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‘‘Off, off, Raitli Ellison, 
neither part nor lot with us/’ 


child of many prayers, ye have now 


P(t<i( S-i 






The Cherry Ribband 

Jl (Njovel 


Bs 

S. R. Crockett 

Author of **The Lilac Sunhonntif^ etc. 


Illustrated by Claude Shepperson 



York 

A, S, ^Bnrnes & Company 
1905 


unti:ARY i'r 

uopicfc rfecwvy: 



itP Ifi ISti^ 


7ii€i^22.f9cS 

<'S« 

//7 3 S ^ 

CU»^Y 6. 


I'S« 

A 


Copyright igo^ 

By a. S. BARNES & COMPANY 
All Rights Reserved 
Published Septeviber igo^ 


» • 


TO 

THE MANY KIND HEARTS, WHO, IN AMERICA 
HAVE LOVED 

«THE LILAC SUNBONNET” 

(and said so) 

I DEDICATE 


“THE CHERRY RIBBAND” 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I CHERRY RIPE, CHERRY RIPE, IN THE 

SPRINGTIME OF THE YEAR ... I 

II THE LARGER, CATECHISM ... 9 

III QUIET GIL 17 

IV raith’s outcasting .... 25 

V HIS mother’s keepsake . . .31 

VI SERGEANT GRIP TAKES SWORD EXERCISE 35 

VII THE ENLISTMENT OF A RENEGADE . • 4I 

VIII SABBATH SILENCES .... 46 

IX lag’s CLERK SAYS AMEN ” . . . $6 

X THE PALETTE OF PETER PAUL . . 6 1 

XI THE TRAVELLERS HAD AN ADVENTURE 

OR TWO BY THE WAY . . . .67 

XII GRIP TAKES COMMAND OF THE BASS . 76 

XIII THE NEW STOCK 8O 

XIV THE KISS OF PEACE . . . * . 85 

XV “ LIKE AS A BIRD ” 9 1 

XVI GEORGE JEX’S JUST PROVIDENCE . 102 

XVII THE COT IN CANTIE BAY . . . . IO9 

XVIII IVIE CASTS THE GOLD FROM HER HAIR . I I5 
XIX DRUM-TAPS AND THE PRIDE OF LIFE . 122 

XX PRAYERFUL PETER AND LONG-BODIED JOHN 1 29 
XXI O THOU DECEITFUL TONGUE ! . .135 

XXII DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF . . I4I 

XXIII THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS . . .153 

XXIV THE DEIL’s BACK-KITCHEN . . . 164 

XXV IN TANTALLON CAVE . . . .173 

XXVI THE CUP AND THE LIP . . . * . 1 84 

XXVII THE SILVER-HILTED SWORD . . .193 


viii CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

XXVIII COUNTERPLOT 

XXIX GRIP RYSLAND’s SWORD KNOT . 

XXX PRISON BREAKING .... 

XXXI H. M. S. SWIFTSURE IN THE BAY 
XXXII CAPTAIN GEORGE TEDDIMAN’s INSPECTION 

OF THE BASS 

XXXIII GOOD-BYE TO THE BASS 
XXXIV THE LETTER ON THE ROSE-BUSH 

XXXV lag’s raid 

XXXVI HOUSTON- IN-THE-HOLLOW 
XXXVII THE DUEL IN THE HALL 
XXXVIII ivie’s hand is kissed . . . . 

XXXIX LAG TAKES COUNSEL .... 
XL KINGSBERRY ON THE HILL 
XLI THE HAUNTED HAGS OF CRAIG WEARY 
XLII AS HIGH A HILL AS THE HILL OF BASHAN 
XLIII THE WILES OF PRAYERFUL PETER 
XLIV THE FIGHT IN THE MIST . . . . 

XLV THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL 
XLVI THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT . 

XLVII OUT OF THE DEPTHS I CRIED . • . 

XLVIII LONG-BODIED JOHN MARTYR . 

XLIX BIG DEIL AND LITTLE DEIL . 

L Marjory’s mother-heart 

LI THE PLACE OF SLAUGHTER . 

LII JEZEBEL AND JEZEBEL’s CHILDREN . 


PAGE 

199 

205 

21 I 
221 

230 

244 

249 

258 

266 

272 

284 

294 

301 

310 

318 

327 

334 

343 

354 

365 

375 

385 

392 

398 

404 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Off, off, Raith Ellison, child of many prayers, ye have now 

neither part nor lot with us.” Frontispiece 


/ 


And there she was — she whom the old man, his father, had 

called Jezebel page 


4 


/ 


“ I must answer for myself.” 


277 


Stephen Houston, his long hair falling all about his face, 

sat firing horse-pistol after horse-pistol at some part of ✓ 

the room they could not see 364 



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THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


% 



THE 


CHERRY RIBBAND 

CHAPTER I 

CHERRY RIPE, CHERRY RIPE, IN THE SPRING-TIME OF 
THE YEAR 

Raith Ellison had not come straight home from 
the Conventicle. There was nothing remarkable in 
that. It was no time to walk calmly back from a pro- 
scribed hill communion, where the Gospel was preached 
by outlaw ministers at the peril of their lives, as if it 
had been a mere cock-fighting or tavern merrymaking. 

His blind father, old William Ellison, had already 
been led homeward by Gil, his eldest son — the pair of 
them passing rapidly athwart the brown heather and 
dark purple gashes of the moss-hags. Murdoch and 
Beattie, his younger brothers, had held away to the 
north, with Raith's mother and sister Euphrain under 
their protection. That was all the family of the house 
of Mayfield, save only the dogs and Grizel Alston, the 
herd's lassie from the Muir of Fintrie, who helped 
Euphrain with the byre. 

Raith Ellison had tried hard to be as enthusiastic 
about religion as were his father and brothers. But 
in the first place he took somewhat after his mother, 
whose East-country blood responded somewhat slackly 
to the high westland ardours. Moreover Raith was 
but nineteen and, though he was little better than a 
i 


2 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


young ploughman, he had never, at kirk or market, 
looked kindly at a girl without having her look kindly 
back at him. Farther than that it had not gone. 

So, for these reasons, very clear to his own mind, 
Raith Ellison had come home from the great conven- 
ticle upon the hill of Tarbellion, by way of the village 
of Irongray and the great house of Kersland, where 
Cornet Grahame’s troop of His Majesty’s dragoons 
was stationed. 

The sergeant major’s daughter, I vie Rysland, wore 
pink ribbons and laughed at him. But, as Raith care- 
fully explained to himself, when his conscience pricked 
him, that had nothing to do with the case. 

How, in fact, should it } Raith did not care. He 
was his father’s son, and he knew better than to mix 
with unbelievers, open persecutors, Jezebels — espe- 
cially Jezebels. Yet, for all that, it was wonderful 
how memorable Raith Ellison found the way the Rys- 
land girl had of throwing her head back and laughing 
aloud when he passed by. In it there was a trill that 
rang a bell somewhere deep down in his breast, and 
then the flash of those white teeth — which had no 
business to be so small and white and regular ! There 
was no word of these when, in the Book of the Kings, 
she painted her face and tired her hair and looked out 
at the window. 

Raith Ellison did not want to see Ivie Rysland, the 
sergeant’s daughter. The words of the sermon deliv- 
ered on the Mount Tarbellion were yet ringing in his 
ears. ‘*I have set my King upon my holy hill of 
Zion.” 

Desperately Raith tried to fix his mind upon the 
divisions of Mr. Peden’s discourse — from its stately 
beginning to its startling and prophetic conclusion — 
the Father clothing the Son with all royal and divine 
prerogatives, owning him before the assembled heavens 
and the wonderful earth, and last of all, bestowing upon 


CHERRY RIPE IN THE SPRING-TIME 3 


him an earthly throne and the power to judge the na- 
tions — especially this poor afflicted Scotland — and to 
do judgments upon its malignant and blaspheming 
oppressors. 

Raith passed through the village, his head down, 
scarce glancing at the shut doors, the veiled windows 
upon which the blinds were drawn down for precau- 
tion. Most of the villagers had been, one way or 
other, at the Communion and preaching on Tarbellion 
Hill, “ in the place called Eshcol, because there was 
the wine poured out.” But Lag’s Tower was some- 
what too close at their doors, and the folk of Irongray 
knew that they played with fire who took liberties 
with the King’s laws within arms’ length of Sir Rob- 
ert Grier. 

Raith told himself that he was glad when he had 
passed down the length of Irongray Village, with 
never a glance of a cherry-coloured ribbon from one end 
of the street to the other. 

But when, at the green dip of the road to Kersland 
House, where was the headquarters of Cornet Gra- 
hame’s troop, a laughing voice flouted him in full song, 
there was, spite of the recent solemnity and the awful 
words of him whom all men counted a prophet, a sud- 
den leap of gladness in the heart of Raith Ellison, who, 
in that sombre Cameronian household of Mayfield 
hidden like a whaup’s nest in the bosom of the purple 
hills, had held through all his more youthful youth no 
promiscuous troking with womankind. 

Especially had he been warned against the women 
of the Oppressor, who, as his blind father had so often 
informed him (on the highest Scriptural authority), 
“ painted their eyes, decked themselves with ornaments, 
sitting by the wayside ; ” or who like the Sabaens from 
the wilderness (by which was undoubtedly meant the 
uncovenanted English), put “bracelets upon their 
hands and beautiful crowns of gold upon their heads.” 


4 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

Now this is what came to Raith Ellison out of the 
wood : 


“ Sweet Willie said a word in haste 
Fair Annie took it ill. 

Oh, I’ll never wed a tocherless May 
Again my faither’s will.” 

Then yet more joyously, from the green covert rang 
out the reply of Fair Annie to such ungallant senti- 
ments, the last two lines being delivered with a per- 
fect peal of scornful laughter : 


“ If ye will never wed a wife, 

A wife will ne’er wed ye. 

Sae he is off to tell his mither. 

As fast as he could flee 1 ” 

Raith looked at the dense covert of leaves, where 
the hazel bushes grew close down to the track, sweep- 
ing the green foot-road on either side of the hard- 
trodden bridle-path with a pleasant sough as often as 
the wind blew. But the prospect did not tell Raith 
Ellison much. His heart halted, indeed, like a horse 
suddenly checked, and then plunged determinedly 
forward. The green leaves moved above the path. 
They waved. They were put aside. 

And there she was — she whom the old man his 
father had called Jezebel. There was a crown of gold 
on her head. Bracelets of the same twined her 
wrists. But the lips were so rose-red, the teeth so 
marvellously small and white and regular, and the 
laughter in the eyes — dark eyes, the colour unde- 
cided — so disconcerting that it was some time before 
Raith Ellison could make out that the golden crown 
and the wristlets were only fabricated of the gay light- 
ness of broom-blossom culled upon the Irongray 
knowes. 

And then her eyes sparkled with a clear fire in 



And there she 
Jezebel. 


was — she whom the ohl man. liis father, liad called 




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CHERRY RIPE IN THE SPRING-TIME 5 


their deeps, like sunbeams flickering and flittering 
through leaves into a woodland well. 

“ Hame to my minnie — hame to my minnie ! 

‘ And the best place for me/ said bonnie Willie.” 

She Stepped out into the road, the Sergeant’s 
daughter, I vie Rysland. Not a tall girl nor yet a 
short girl. Not a thin girl nor yet a plump girl. But 
just such a girl as Raith Ellison had never seen — nor 
to tell the truth was likely to see from the Back Shore 
of Port Patrick to the Brig End of Dumfries. 

Ah, if she had not been — he remembered the words, 
they were his father’s — “ a daughter of the uncircum- 
cised ! ” So thought Raith, without reflecting that, 
never in his life had he taken the least interest in the 
doucest lambs of the flock, clad in grey always, and 
with a checked plaid over their heads on Sabbaths, 
their eyes cast down and their snooded hair plain and 
smooth as comb could make it. 

There was no end to the daring of this girl, this 
Ismaelitish woman. She stood in front of him, her 
bracelets upon her wrists, chapleted with flame, the 
light wind blowing her hair, sensibly and elfishly 
casting her enchantments upon Raith Ellison. She 
mimicked his attitudes ; thrusting forward her head, 
enlarging her eyes, and dropping her chin. Then all 
suddenly she cried, “ Sweet Willie, have ye a tongue } 
I have — see ! ” 

And without any tincture of that sober respect 
which Raith Ellison knew had been put at the first 
between the woman and the man, she thrust out at 
him a little pink pin-point of tongue. 

Raith stood aghast. In all his body, in all his soul 
he had no word. Decidedly, very decidedly she must 
be Jezebel. Yet her face was not painted, nor yet her 
eyelashes — Raith wished that he had been somewhat 
nearer to her so that he could make sure. 


6 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Then taking a new tack, she suddenly aff rayed him 
by a question. 

And what, I pray you of your courtesy, kind sir, 
was Auld Sandy’s text this day upon the Hill of 
Tarbellion .? ” 

That touched him, and he spoke. 

** I ken not,” he said slowly, and blushing deeply, 
** I ken not the thing that ye would have of me — .” 

“ Sir,” she flouted, “ ye are safe for me. I was 
ever considerate to bairns. Why, I would not have 
your poor heart at a gift, lad. No, not though the 
passage were as easy as the crossing of Bothwell Brig. 
Rest assured — I am as free of guile as any ewe-lamb 
of the fold ! ” 

And she struck her hands together in a pretty 
mockery of what in the troop was considered the 
Hill-folks’ way of preaching. 

“ But — you said — you said,” Raith Ellison panted, 
a little huskily. 

“ What .? ” she demanded. ‘‘ In the course of a day I 
say many things — more than there is any call to re- 
member ! But I am a true maid — out with what I 
said, sirrah, and I will stand by it — body o’ me, that 
will I ! ” 

** You asked Mr. Peden’s text this day, when he 
preached upon the Hill Tarbellion!” murmured the 
young man. 

Raith looked about him fearfully as he spoke. The 
heats of the Killing Time in Scotland were no en- 
couragers of loud or vain speech. 

Yet Ivie laughed, laughed till the tears came into 
her eyes and the lemon-coloured globes scattered waste- 
fully from her golden crown. 

“ Great oaf,” she said, yet putting something in her 
voice that took the sting out of the injury, great 
oaf, do you think that Sergeant Major Grif Rysland 
of His Majesty’s dragoons cannot do his duty with- 


CHERRY RIPE IN THE SPRING-TIME 7 

out his daughter’s assistance ? I am no spy, man. 
Look at me! ” 

She took a step or two nearer to him, paused eye to 
eye, daring him, set her little hands with the yellow 
bracelets upon her hips, the broom petals starring the 
flounces of her close-girt dress. 

“ Do I look like a spy ? ” she said, “ answer me, holy 
Mr. Raith Ellison — conventicle-keeping young Mr. 
Ellison — good, sweet, law-breaking, gospel-hearing, 
evil-thinking Mr. Raith Ellison, do I look like a spy ? 
Have I sold the blood of man or woman ? Set the 
troopers on the track of any that are brave, misguided 
man .? I demand you to speak if ever ye have heard 
the like of me } What ? Silent — still silent ? ” 

She waved her hand contemptuously. 

“ Enough I ” she cried. “ I bid you a good day, 
baby-face — baby-heart I Yonder lies your road. 
Doubtless your courage will grow — with your mousta- 
choes. For, let me tell you, Mr. Raith Ellison, ye 
are neither jolly Kingsman, nor stout Whig. Go keep 
the cows, laddie 1 Tarry at Jericho until thy beard be 
grown, as Sandy would say I ” 

And she sprang into the woodland with a scornful 
flout of her hand, and the rapid swirling of broad 
green leaves closing about her like water. 

Raith looked at the place from which she had come 
and into which she had disappeared. He had half a 
mind to follow her. But a mocking voice, like an 
echo half-choked with laughter, halted him. 

“ Hame to his minnie — hame to his minnie ! 

And the best place for him, bonnie lad Willie 1 ” 

Raith Ellison bit his lip till he felt a sweet taste in 
his mouth. He started fiercely for the broad green 
wall of the hazel bushes. He would seize her, hold 
her, rend an explanation from her. What right had 
she — ? 


8 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But before he had solved the first of these questions, 
there came once more the ripple of that light laugh 
which had so often made him quiver. A golden wrist- 
let fell at his feet. And after that there was no more 
of human sound. The sough of the wind on the 
great empty bank-side of trees and in the dense covert 
of the hazel bushes came back to him exceedingly 
lonesome. 

Raith stood long before he dared to pick up the 
yellow circle in the dust. It was tied with the smallest 
possible little bow of cherry-coloured ribbon, very 
dainty. He walked on hastily, and as he went he hid 
Jezebel’s keepsake first under his cloak, and then 
deeper, under the sober grey justicoi'y or waistcoat, 
hear the place where his Presbyterian heart was beat- 
ing all too unsoberly. 


CHAPTER II 


THE LARGER CATECHISM 

In my twentieth year,” — so Raith Ellison was 
wont to tell his age when any asked him, which was, 
indeed, seldom. For in these regions of an elevated 
piety, even so much savoured of David’s sin of ‘‘num- 
bering the people ” and those who were already in the 
hands of the Philistines, scrupled to fall also under 
the hand of God. 

Fourteen years younger than the next of his breth- 
ren, four years younger than his sister Euphrain, the 
youngest born of the house of Mayfield had grown up 
as a tender plant in a rude and blusterous world. Slen- 
der of body, tall, or inclined to be so (for the lad had 
hardly yet done with his growing) his ruddy lips and 
modestly blushing cheek caused him to be called the 
young David — “ save in this,” added his father when 
he heard it, “ that I fear me he lacketh sadly of Da- 
vid’s grace.” 

“ Hoot, guidman,” the boy’s mother would answer, 
with her loving indulgent look, “ ’tis but the short 
com on the sandy sapless knowes that ripens early! ” 

“ Say rather, Marjory Simpson,” retorted the stern 
old man, “ do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of 
thistles ? ” 

“ Deed, William Ellison, be the lad thorn or thistle, 
yours is the root-stock — a slip of your grafting, Wil- 
liam. Deny him not. It behooves you to stand be- 
tween the lad and his Maker! ” 

“ Then woe is me, and woe to the lad,” said the 


10 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


father, “ for I am but a corrupt tree and can only 
bring forth evil fruit !” 

<< I see naething the matter wi’ the bairn, William,” 
persisted his mother, you are forever on his back, 
you and Beattie. He was at the Communion Stanes 
this day and behaved right reverently, sitting apart 
with his eyes on Maister Peden, though yet over 
young to be a communicant.” 

“ / was admitted when I was but fifteen years of 
my age,” said her husband, **and Beattie — ” 

Mistress Marjory Ellison stamped her foot lightly. 
Speak not to me of Beattie,” she said, “ he is for- 
ever carrying tales.” 

“ Out of your own mouth I condemn you, woman,” 
cried the blind man, “ is Beattie not bone of your bone, 
flesh of your flesh even as the other ? ” 

Even so ! He is your son and mine,” returned 
the old lady, “ the Lord save his soul and bridle his 
tongue ! ” 

“He hath been set apart to speak the truth of God 
to a faithless generation,” said the farmer of Mayfield 
proudly. “Would that I could but see him. I would 
barter a hundred years of glory, that these eyes might 
behold him but once, standing on the barren moun- 
tains with a willing people about him, dividing asunder 
soul and marrow with the sharp two-edged sword of 
the gospel ! ” 

“ That were indeed a miracle ! ” said his wife 
dryly. 

“ I dare you to say so, woman, of your own son,” 
cried William Ellison, rising to his feet, his tall form 
dilating, as he felt for the corner of the high chimney 
shelf upon which he was accustomed to steady himself. 
His wife mechanically guided his hand to the place 
and then replied, nothing abashed, “ William, the mira- 
cle would be, if, even for the space of an hour, that 
your sight should return to you ! ” 


THE LARGER CATECHISM 


II 


But the old man waved a hand unsmilingly. He 
knew better. He saw with an inward eye. 

^‘Even as Isaac,” he said grimly, **my eyesight 
hath departed from me, and also I have a wife who 
(even as Rebecca the daughter of Bethuel, Nahor’s 
son, whom Milcah bore unto him), goeth about to alter 
birthrights and to drive her youngest son forth into 
the deserts of vanity and the pride of man.” 

Then it was that Raith Ellison arrived. He had 
come over the moor, sculking from thorn bush to thorn 
bush, as it had been guiltily. Yet not because of 
Lag’s questing scouts, nor yet of any troop of red 
dragoons riding hither and thither over the heather. 
It was the thing he carried near his heart that made 
him shamed — the circlet of dark green from which 
most of the brave yellow flourish had been crushed, 
yet which he could still see shining upon her arm as 
gold shines upon alabaster. 

Gil, his eldest brother, greeted him from the stable- 
door with a smile — old, quiet Gil Ellison who spoke 
but seldom, yet who had done his duty at Drumclog 
and the Moss of Ayr, besides being one of the last to 
break upon the fatal Bridgend of Bothwell. Gil never 
said very much at any time. He left vain talking to 
others. But all knew that no man’s hands were readier 
in time of need. And as for Raith, Gil was far more 
his father than the stern old blind man within. Raith 
knew instinctively that, come what might, he had a friend 
in quiet Gil, even as he was conscious that most of his 
misfortunes came to him through the agency of cunning 
Beattie, who, mild and of speech most plausible, but 
with keen shifty eyes, cultivated and practised a habit 
of talebearing “ for the good of Raith’ s soul,” and oft- 
times too in the past, for the penance of his body. 

Raith, conscious of his late entrance, carefully 
evaded the house-place and the sound of the voices 
within. He left cunning Beattie watching him from the 


12 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


hillside on which the sheep were scattered, and, making 
a turn behind the house, he went towards the dairy 
where he knew his sister Euphrain would be setting the 
pails for the night. In the byre he heard huge-boned 
Murdoch the good-natured, clashing the milking 
luggies and slapping the cows to make them stand 
over, all to the accompaniment of chains that rattled, 
and cloven feet that moved restlessly among the slip- 
pery “ sham ” of the byre. 

Euphrain,” he said, as he stood at the door, ‘‘so 
all have gotten home in safety .? ” 

Euphrain, a pale girl, still and staid in her ways, like 
Gil her brother, glanced up quickly from her “bynes,” 
or great wooden basins of reaming milk. She was 
making ready for the morrow’s cheese-making. 

“That I kenna,” she said, softly, “what think ye, 
Raith .? ” 

And there was something so personal in her inquiry 
that Reith, though sure in his heart, that she could 
know nothing, was unable to restrain himself from 
blushing. “ There are our father and mother,” he be- 
gan. “ I heard them in the kitchen-place. And 
Beattie, yonder he is on the hill. Gill is at the stable 
door, and I saw Murdock — ” 

“And yourself, Raith,” ? she said, pausing to regard 
him stilly, “ is it well with you, boy ? There is a dif- 
ference in you these last days, which all may see — you 
draw yourself away from us. The others notice it. 
Tell me — I can help. Or tell our mother. She 
will listen. Have ye denied the Word of Life.!^ Have 
ye companied with the doers of iniquity .? Speak, 
Raith, for the love we bear you. But why should I 
speak of that ? You love us no more. We are too 
simple for you ! ” 

Raith was silent a moment. He was even, as it 
seemed to himself, on the brink of a confession. But 
something choked him — the foolishness of it, the fu- 


THE LARGER CATECHISM 13 

tility of having nothing to confess, save nonsense, 
about pink ribbons and sprigs of broom. 

Euphrain,” he said, but without looking her in 
the face, there is nothing to tell.” 

She stood erect, gazing deeply in her young broth- 
er’s eyes. Then she turned away with a sigh. 

“ Shut,” she said, “ shut to me now ! But it had 
been better, Raith, to- tell your Euphrain, lest a worse 
thing befall us all ! ” 

But Raith Ellison, shy as a wild goat, proud at 
heart as a young horse that has never felt the rein, 
came near only to his mother. He could answer only 
her questions, he thought — not Euphrain’s. At this 
moment great Murdoch, the good-natured giant, ap- 
proached with two full pails, stumbling on the step at 
sight of his youngest brother in the dairy. 

“ Eh, you,” he muttered, get out o’ the road o’ 
working folk, man.” 

But nothing that Murdoch could say, hurt any one 
at Mayfield. He was only Murdoch, and it seemed 
but a day since he had been used to carry the young- 
lings on his back, both at one time. He could have 
done as much now, only that Euphrain had suddenly 
grown staid and Raith proud. Nevertheless, no one 
was ever out of temper with Murdoch. Even Beat- 
tie’s venomed speeches dropped away harmless and 
blunted from Murdock’s armour of proof. 

“ Stupidity ! ” quoth Beattie, between his teeth, 
“ he does not even know when I pink him ! ” 

“ As well, perhaps, for you. Master Beattie,” put in 
quiet old Gil from his comer, why he could plaster 
the rigging with the contents of your clever brain- 
pan ! ” 

A kind of dour despair, and desperate aloofness 
from all his kin, took possession of Raith Ellison as 
he went into the kitchen to face his father and to 
underlie the questioning reproachful glances of his 


14 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


mother. But the blind old man was the more to be 
feared. His ear, answering for eyes also, had fined 
down all shades and differences of tone till he read 
them as a clerk an open book. He had the inner 
vision of much experience. But his infirmity kept 
from him the kindly milk of tolerance, which mostly 
accompanies insight among the old. Also the times 
were against broad views. 

Raith did not speak as he entered. He looked at 
his mother shyly and, averting his eyes, he went to the 
great byne of skimmed milk and whey which stood 
always on the corner of the white scoured wooden 
dresser. He lifted the brimming scoop thrice to his 
lips and drank deep. 

‘^Ye are late,” said his father, speaking as from a 
great height. He was standing with one strong hand 
gripping the chimney corner, as was his wont. His 
fingers had made a groove there during the years. His 
eyes were on his son — grey veiled eyes, startlingly 
piercing and, as it seemed, clairvoyant. There was no 
horror of whiteness about them as about those of so 
many blind. 

Aye,” said Raith, striving for calm, “ I came by 
the way of the village.” 

“ Sir,” said his father, “ was not the moor clear and 
open before you } Wherefore then have ye walked in 
the way of sinners ? ” 

** Because it was good not to return from the preach- 
ing save two or three together,” said Raith, somewhat 
sullenly, ** it was at your own bidding.” 

“ So your young limbs are slower than those of an 
old man and a blind,” his father went on. ‘‘Two 
hours already have your mother and I been sitting 
under our own vine and figtree, waiting for our young- 
est born, your mother’s Benjamin. And now, sir, 
what have you to say } ” 

“Nothing,” said Raith Ellison, with a kind of angry 


THE LARGER CATECHISM 


15 

calmness, “ I have nothing to tell. Of the soldiers I 
saw none. And in the village street not a cat stirred. 
The blinds were drawn down. I saw naught but 
Peter Porson, the Angry Curate, who hammered a 
printed paper on the kirk door and cursed every time 
he chacked his finger with the hammer ! ” 

So told, there seemed not much wrong that Raith 
had done. But an Ellison, a dweller in the house of 
Mayfield, of the bluest blood of Reformation and 
Covenants ever since old Makkar Ellison (who had 
begun by ballad making and ended by psalm singing) 
laid his hackbut over his shoulder and set off to May- 
bole to stand behind John Knox in his disputation 
with the Abbot of Crossraguel — an Ellison must be 
as far above suspicion as the wife of Caesar. 

And these hours, lad ? ” persisted his father, ** Be- 
attie made it two hours by the sun from the time ye 
entered Kersland wood at the Irongray smithy to the 
time when ye came up the loaning from the Loch- 
side.” 

“ Beattie ! ” exclaimed the boy fiercely, it is always 
Beattie — he spies on me and carries tales ! ” 

“ For your soul’s good — he has it much at heart,” 
said his father, Beattie is a choice vessel, set apart 
for lofty duty.” 

Here the Mistress of Mayfield coughed and going 
to the dresser began to clatter dishes. The old man, 
quick to interpret, turned on her. “ The Lord hath 
still some sore strivings with you, Marjory Simpson. 
He hath not yet mastered that stubborn Eastland 
heart of thine. Ye are kin to them that refused a 
shelter to the poor flying folk on the night of Pent- 
land. But see ye that the softening comes in time 
into your homy heart. For He will not always strive. 
If ye support thk your youngest-born in his folly, and 
rattle your crock! at the name of Beattie who is as one 
chosen of God, set apart and anointed among us — I 


i6 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


tell ye, woman, ye are working the works of the devil 
in this covenanted house.” 

“ I see not that the lad Raith hath done so mickle 
wrong,” said his wife, were ye never young yoursel’, 
William ? I think that I mind a time when ye thought 
other and better of my poor horny Eastland heart. 
But let that gang by, laddie, sit ye down to your sup- 
per. Ye. have need of it, I trow. Listening to the 
preached word on the moors is hungry work to the 
young ! ” 

“ It should not be so to the profitably inclined — ” 
said old Ellison, wine on the less well refined, the 
dinner of herbs where love is, the finest of the wheat 
— all these were sweet on my palate to-day ! I feel 
no need of earthly meat.” 

“ The better for you,” said his wife firmly, “ but 
mind the fire of coals, and the fish laid thereon by the 
side of the Lake ! ” 

And One that stood thereby and said, * Come and 
dine ! ’ ” murmured the old man exaltedly with an en- 
tire change of voice, making as if to lift his bonnet 
from his head. *‘Ye are right, Marjory Simpson, I 
stand reproved before you. Give the lad his supper ! ” 


CHAPTER III 


QUIET GIL 

The farm of Mayfield lay in a little how of the wide, 
barrow-backed moors, well hidden from all the more 
open ways of traffic. It had often been visited, both 
by dragoons and the rougher levies of Lag. But noth- 
ing had ever been proved against the Ellisons. Some 
strain of blood kin, and a lifetime of respect mingled 
with awe for blind William Ellison, had for the time 
being stopped the mouth of that rough-pelted lion, 
Robert Grier. 

It was a thatched farmhouse in one corner — a story 
beneath and a garret above, a quadrangle of rough- 
faced office-houses, kept carefully pointed with lime, 
and loop-holed on the outer sides as if for musketry 
fire, a huge striding gateway of wood barred across the 
top and gunshot proof — the whole the work of William 
Ellison and his father in the old high days of Presby- 
tery after the year Thirty Eight, when there was news 
of the descent of Montrose’s Highlanders and Fear 
walked the land. For Mayfield was an ancient free- 
hold and went down from Ellison to Ellison, no supe- 
rior or liege-lord having a claim upon it, ever since the 
great house of the Douglases of the Black was put 
down in blood and treachery by King Jamie of the 
Fiery Face. 

A bien place this home-steading of Mayfield. Calls 
had been made upon it time and again — fodder, vic- 
tual, bestial had been carried away. Yet the barns 
were gorged, the kitchen was a swing with the hams 
2 


i8 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


of mutton and sides of pork, while in the family beef- 
tub, there was put to salt each backend, the full-fed 
Martinmas bullock for the provend of the winter. 

Moreover, the Ellisons had the open hand. No 
stinting — no scanting. None turned away hungry from 
the door — not even the Egyptian fly-by-nights who 
dwelt in the lirks of the hills and sallied forth only to 
steal and to reive and to devour. 

Especially the wanderer for conscience sake had a 
welcome, warm and heartsome at Mayfield, for none 
knew how soon every member of the household might 
be driven out on the hillside for the honour of a wasted 
kirk and a broken covenant. The King’s soldier, 
straying from his troop, sat down to the best the 
house could afford. He was a man, after all, and 
even if his hands were red as his coat, with the blood 
of God’s chosen — well, there was this ancient and 
effectual excuse for him — he knew not what he did. 

It was, however, mostly owing to the East Country 
blood of Marjory Simpson, spouse to blind William of 
Mayfield, that these things were so. She it was who, 
behind her husband’s back, had paid the cess,” and 
spoken fair words to the rough soldiery on their 
domiciliary visitations, and (her family out of the way), 
had even boasted of their kinship to Lag, so that up 
to the present Mayfield and its indwellers . had been 
left in peace in the midst of that wasted and night- 
mare-ridden country. 

Quiet Gil had fought, and would doubtless fight 
again. But that was Gil’s affair. He asked no coun- 
cil of any. He went to his bed in the stable loft, 
after suppering the horses and redding up the yard. 
In the morning he was not. Neither his gun, his pair 
of pistols, nor his short sword were to be found. 

He would be absent for a period longer or shorter, 
as the case might be. But upon a morning, all un- 
awares, the first to awaken (it was always Gil’s 


19 


QUIET GIL 

mother) would look out of the narrow casement, and 
there, placidly taking the horses to water would be 
Gil, his face a little thinner perhaps, but still and 
placidly tolerant as ever, with the same gentle, grave 
far-back smile that ever characterised him. 

Some day too, Beattie, who had an eye to the min- 
istry of the Word, and began to do bravely at family 
worship, would doubtless take to the hills. But there 
were years and years which must pass before that. 
For good William Ellison was resolved to do all things 
decently and in order. Beattie was to go abroad in 
some ship, guided by his uncle Captain David Simp- 
son of Leith, a notable ship’s captain, who would take 
him up, convey him over seas, and set him down at 
the feet of Master Brackel at Leeuwarden in the Low 
Countries, even as Paul sat at the feet of Gamaliel. 

As for the great Murdoch, he was a bearer of 
burdens and a hewer of wood. He guided the horses 
at the plough. His strong arms were never tired. 
Cutting with the reaping hook, helping Beattie on the 
moor with his sheep, winning the meadow-hay, thatch- 
ing the office-houses, breaking the young colts, it was 
all one to Murdoch — good-natured always, ready with 
sinewy hands and long-striding legs to succour a brother 
or do his errand. Much put upon, but taking it all 
like mother’s milk, there was yet a strong life to be 
aroused one day in Murdoch — mighty angers, indom- 
itable wraths, which he who should kindle would do 
well to flee from right hastily. So at least said those 
who had seen him brain the Kersland horned bull, 
with nothing but a short plough-coulter in his hand, 
that day when it broke dykes and attacked his 
mother in the Mayfield meadow. 

And Euphrain.? 

But Euphrain shall speak for herself. She was a 
Puritan maiden. Deep things were in her heart as 
she stooped over the milking-pails. She had Gil’s 


20 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


quiet, strong, and even silences. But in her thoughts 
on duty and the affairs of the state — and specially of 
Christ’s suffering Kirk, Euphrain Ellison was liker her 
father than any of the others. The main difference 
was that he spoke continually, while she, as a maid, 
fenced her heart deeper and deeper about with silence 
and reserve. 

After eating his supper of sowens ” and skim 
milk, to which his mother, watching William Ellison 
safe into his closet, added a full farle of oat-cake and 
a slice of mutton ham, Raith took his broad blue bon- 
net in his hand and strolled out. 

He drew a full, deep-chested breath at the door as 
he took in the clean coolness of the dusk. In front 
of him there was only a single star, but a young moon 
in its first quarter glittered overhead, sharp at the 
inner edge as a scythe newly straiked. 

Gil was standing with his arms on the bars of the 
open gate, into which he had not yet closed the stock 
for the night. He was waiting for Beattie, who, from 
off the moor, was driving down the ewes with their 
lambs. The sweet uneasy plaintiveness of their call- 
ing came to him across the valley with an infinite 
tenderness. 

Gil did not look at his brother. He did not move 
his bearded chin off his palm. Any one who did not 
know Gil might have thought that he was quite 
unconscious of Raith’s presence. But Raith knew 
better. 

“Trouble.?” queried the elder, with an upward in- 
flexion, yet hardly raising his voice above a whisper. 

“ Yes,” assented Raith, “ Beattie told our father 
that I was two hours in the Kersland wood on my 
way home.” 

Something came from between the clenched teeth 
of Gil Ellison — something like the first low warning 
of a watch-dog when, very far off, he diagnoses some- 


21 


QUIET GIL 

thing that does not please him. More than that the 
growl could not be — for Gil was a good Covenant 
man, and had stood with their stoutest on many a 
stricken field. 

“ A lass ” said Gil, without moving, still with the 
same subtle twist of question in his voice. 

“ It was nothing — I canna tell ye ! ” said Raith, 
incoherently. 

“ Then — a lass ! ” 

This time Gil’s voice was a simple assertion. 

“There was no wrong,” said Raith, with undue 
solemnity, “ she only laughed at me ! ” 

Gil nodded his head. 

“ Ay,” he said, “ it begins that gate. But the road 
lies yont, far yont — where ye cannot see, Raith boy. 
Turn ye, lad — turn ye ! ” 

“ What ken ye about lasses, Gil ? ” said Raith, “ a 
sober professing man like you } ” 

Gil touched the roughing of curled hair about his 
temples. 

“ This was not always grey,” he said, quietly, “ but 
— the Lord’s will — the Lord’s will be done. I am 
no denying that she made me a better man ! ” 

“ Who } ” said Raith, bewildered. He was thinking 
of Ivie Rysland and wondering to distraction how this 
staid sober-sides of a Gil could possibly have known 
her. 

“ Who } ” repeated Gil, slowly, “ who } — Why, the 
lass that garred a young man’s hair turn grey in a 
night ! ” 

“ In a night ! ” he repeated and gravely turned on 
his heel as if he had no further advice to offer, no 
reproof or comment to make. Only as he went Raith 
caught his muttered words, 

“ I deny not — no, I dare not — that she made a 
better man of Gil Ellison!” 

It was now the time of the closing of the great 


22 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


gate, always a high and important event at the farm- 
town of Mayfield. Beattie came in after his flock, two 
rough-haired collies at his heels, well satisfied. He 
was the tallest and darkest of any of the Ellisons. 
He carried his head a little forward, as if continually 
peering about him — “ looking at the wonderful works 
of God,” he said. But it may be judged without too 
much uncharitableness, keeping also a shrewd eye on 
the sins and shortcomings of his fellow men. 

Then the family of Mayfield went within doors to 
the evening prayer. The ingle-fire burned bright in 
the darkness of the gloomy besmoked kitchen. With 
a certain pomp the mistress of the house had placed a 
pair of candles in the tall brass candlesticks on the 
table. Between them lay the great Bible, shut within 
its rough covers of hairy calf-skin. 

Formerly when the children were younger, it had 
been the custom for William Ellison himself to recite 
the passage for the day with the open volume before 
him. He knew by heart the Psalms, certain chapters 
in Isaiah, much of Jeremiah, the Song of Solomon word 
for word, parts of the first three Gospels, all John (of 
course), the Romans after and including the eighth 
chapter, and, strangely enough (and possibly owing to 
the chill Eastland influence of his wife) the letter of 
James — Luther’s “ epistle of straw.” 

But recently it had been Beattie who read the word 
“ in the ordinary ” as it was called — that is, straight 
through the Bible from one end to the other. Mur- 
doch, his one accomplishment, was wont to raise the 
tune in a voice wondrously sweet and melting to pro- 
ceed from such a Colossus. 

All were now assembled. The old man stood erect 
by the chimney-piece, ready to kneel at the prayer, 
while in his place sat the scholar and future preacher, 
Beattie, his finger turning over the leaves with a 
rustling sound to measure the length of his evening 


QUIET GIL 23 

portion. There was something of prideful assumption 
in his manner. 

, The blind old man judged by the ceasing of the noise 
that all was ready. 

“ Let the doors be shut ! ” he said in a solemn 
voice, “ it is the hour of the evening sacrifice ! " 

Obediently Euphrain glided to the outer door to 
close it, but started back with a quick cry of alarm 
from the tall dark figure, wrapped in a plaid, and with 
a great staff in his hand who stood motionless before 
it. Gil went quickly to the door, for the figure had 
raised a hand. But it was in the benediction of peace. 

“ The blessing of a sinful man be on this house and all that dwell 
therein 1 ” 

“Amen ! ” cried the blind man William Ellison, 
starting forward. “ I hear Mr. Peden’s voice. Come 
in — come in, sir — you find us at the evening duty.” 

Then came a strange man in, his long grey beard 
falling deep on his breast, tall far beyond the ordinary 
height of mankind, his hair thrown back from a broad 
brow, and in his eyes a strange cast — the look of the 
second sight, the inner vision of things unseen. 

“ Have ye well considered ? ” he said, “ there are 
bloodhounds close in my track. I come as a thief in 
the night, not entering in by the door. Do ye well to 
hold communion with Alexander Peden ? ” 

“The back is made for the burden,” said the blind 
man, “ all here are ready to suffer for the Way ! ” 

The tall man with the long grey beard, whom men 
called Peden the Prophet, looked about him, his strange 
vague eyes seeming to search all the souls gathered in 
that Mayfield kitchen. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ I am not so sure. Methinks there 
is one who but dippeth his sop in the Master’s dish ! ” 

And at this William Ellison turned his sightless eyes 
towards his youngest son, in the place where he knew 


24 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


him to be sitting. As for Beattie, he looked up and 
marked the face of Raith burning red with shame and 
confusion. At which Beattie smiled. He was of those 
who are prepared to find the heavenly joys enhanced 
by a near vision of the torments of the lost. They 
hope the gulf fixed will not be fixed too wide. 

But there was yet more and worse for Raith. 

William Ellison, with lofty courtesy, invited the 
stranger to undertake the evening worship. But Peden 
the Prophet, dropping his long beard on his breast, 
answered only, ‘*To-morrow, an you will. But for the 
first night it is my custom to let a man be high-priest 
in his own house, that I may know after what manner 
he draws aside the veil from the Holy of Holies ! ” 


CHAPTER IV 


raith’s outcasting 

In time of worship Raith sat beside his mother, just 
as he had done ever since he was a little kink-headed, 
petticoated boy, mumbling surreptitious crumbs under 
cover of her apron. Even now, after the psalm had 
been raised and all were singing in a sweet and solemn 
unison, Raith moved a little nearer to his mother and 
nestled against her knee, which, as instinctively, went 
forward to meet him — all mothers will know how. 
No one saw. It was their secret, but yet Marjory 
Simpson had been waiting for that moment all the day 
long. And as she turned a leaf of her psalm book, 
her hand went down, as it were unintentionally, and 
rested a moment on his neck, where the soft short 
curls were. To her he seemed to be a babe again. 

And Raith’s heart warmed to the unspoken sympa- 
thy. He did not sing any more. 

Then Beattie read. It was the divine tale of the 
Prodigal Son, and Raith thought that the eyes of all 
were upon him. He would have been unhappy but 
for his mother’s hand upon his neck. It comforted 
him — yet, boylike, he hoped that the others would not 
notice. 

Indeed, none but Peden the Prophet did see, with 
those vague wide-set eyes, which, misty and inward, 
seemed to divine rather than merely to discern. 

William Ellison prayed, his wife guiding him as ever 
to the great three-legged chair of black oak which was 
his Throne of Grace His prayer followed the lines 


26 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


of the reading. First he pled for Scotland, the spoilt 
child of the Promises, long wandering shepherdless and 
now fallen among thieves. Again, coming nearer, he 
prayed for Galloway, for Irongray, trampled under foot 
of the Oppressor — doubtless for their own sins uncon- 
fessed and unrepented of. Lastly, and with great 
vehemence, he prayed for the undeclared Achans in 
the camp of the faithful — idolaters, Baal-worshippers, 
raging waves of the sea foaming out their own shame, 
for prodigal children rioting in far countries. Judases 
who were ready to betray their master — on and 
on till Raith could have cried aloud. Not for fear, 
but because of something that secretly pricked 
him. Thou art the man ! Thou art the man ! ” it 
said. 

For in his heart Raith felt himself apart from this 
company of worshippers — not worse than they, perhaps, 
but different. Even his mother’s hand was removed 
from him now. She had to keep touch with her hus- 
band, lest in his ecstacies he should fall headlong from 
his knees, as he had more than once done before. 

Raith groaned aloud, and Beattie, ever on the 
watch, opened out the fingers which he had reverently 
shut upon his face, and fixed him with a malignant 
eye. 

At the close there rested a silence upon all. In 
honour of the guest, the two candles were permitted 
to burn. The heads of the house seated themselves 
and offered to Mr. Peden the seat of honour in the 
chimney comer. Euphrain, moving softly, laid some 
birch twigs on the hearth and upon these half-a-dozen 
larger faggots, which blazed up and lo ! there was a 
clear white light throughout all the dwelling. 

“ Come hither ! ” said Mr. Peden, suddenly reaching 
out his hand. It was in Raith’s direction that he 
looked. 

‘‘ Saul among the prophets,” he said, ** what dost 


RAITH’S OUTCASTING 27 

thou here, looking like a young David fresh from 
keeping the sheep? ” 

Beattie pushed Raith forward upon the hearth- 
stone. The ruddy lad fronted the deep-lined weary 
figure of the old minister-wanderer. 

“ Knowest thou the Way of God ? ” he said, 
softly. 

“ I do not know,” said Raith, hanging down his 
head. 

Woe is me ! ” cried his father aloud, ** that a child 
of mine should have no clearer testimony ! ” 

But the Prophet regarded him not. 

“ None so ill — none so ill,” he said, nodding his 
head, ‘‘ here is poor Alexander Peden, who for sixty 
years hath sought it with tears, and even now walk- 
eth that Way but stumblingly. But what is this ? ” 

Something had fallen upon the hearth and lay clear 
as Cain’s blood-mark upon the broad shining fore- 
head of the hearthstone. 

IVIE RYSLAND’S WRISTLET OF BROOM FLOURISH! 

There was an awesome silence in the kitchen of 
Mayfield, clearly lighted by the hissing flames of the 
birch branches. Raith’s world swung about him. 
Then came Beattie’s clear high tenor. 

“ I saw the woman of sin — the sergeant’s daughter, 
decked with the like. She tied it about with a cherry 
ribband and set it on her arm ! ” 

The old serpent himself could not have spoken 
plainer. 

“Who has brought the witch’s token into this 
house ? ” cried the old man. “ Take it up, Beattie.” 

And while his younger brother stood paralysed and 
impotent, Beattie lifted up the little dark green wrist- 
band, now despoiled in its close quarters of most of 
its gay flourish, but still indubitably tied about with 
the bow of cherry-coloured ribbon. 


28 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“It is the same,” said Beattie. “ I can swear to it. 
I saw the mad wench go singing and dancing across 
Macrimmon muir, with the like upon her head. Me 
she saw not, but went on her way towards the Kers- 
land Wood.” 

“ Where Raith stayed two hours this day,” said his 
father, “on his way from the ordinances of Grace! 
Stand forth, Raith Ellison.” 

And obedient as he had ever been to his father’s 
voice, Raith stood up. 

“ Have you seen and spoken with this woman } ” 
demanded his father, rolling his veiled eyes upon him. 

“ I have seen her ! ” said Raith. 

“ This day .? ” 

“ This day I ” 

“ The heathen woman — the woman that is a singer 
of songs — that flattereth with her tongue — 

“ She flattered not,” cried Raith, stung by the in- 
justice of this, “ she but laughed and mocked 1 ” 

“ Yet with her — the daughter of the Man of Blood, 
my son spent two hours, wandering in the solitary 
places of the wood I ” 

“ I saw him enter and I saw him come out. It was 
good two hours I ” said Beattie, thoughtfully. 

“ And she gave you this token — this love-gage by 
which evil is kindled as by a fire } ” 

“She threw it. It fell on the road. I lifted it 
up ! ” said Raith, determined to tell the truth. 

Beattie, resolved to assist him to tell it all, added, 
“ And I saw it fall from beneath his doublet upon the 
hearth as he rose from prayer ! ” 

And he threw it again on the stone to mark the 
spot. 

“ It is enough I Go I ” said the old man, pointing 
with his hand to the door. “ Silence, woman I ” 

He grasped his wife by the shoulder, gripping her 
as he had gripped the stone mantelpiece, “ I will be 


RAITH’S OUTCASTING 29 

the master in this house while I live. Let him be- 
gone. He is no son of mine — .” 

The lad has long to repent, being young,” inter- 
rupted Gil, whose words were few. 

I bid you hold your peace lest I curse you also, 
Gil Ellison,” the voice of the old man dominated the 
house, ‘‘go — I command you, lest a worse thing be- 
fall you. Hence to your Jezebel — to your dancer by 
the wayside. There is neither part nor lot for you 
here in this house. On your own head be it ! ” 

But his mother said softly, “Go, lest he curse 
thee — I will meet thee by the well ! ” 

And with that Raith Ellison went forth from his 
father’s house, without attempt at justification of self 
or any word of reproach because of injustice. 

For he knew that the Jews had no dealings with 
the Samaritans, and deep in his heart of hearts he 
knew himself to be Samaritan-born. There was a 
something of pride in it too, the recklessness that 
comes of heady youth, and the hope, scarce avowed, 
that She would not laugh at him any more. So Raith 
kept his head up and went through the door of his 
birth-house an exile and an outcast. 

Gil had disappeared. His mother sat watching her 
opportunity. Gentle Euphrain wept without noise in 
her corner by the spinning-wheel. Murdoch made inar- 
ticulate noises, as if on the point of scolding his horses 
at the plough. Beattie sat studiously curved over the 
great Bible, but the smile on his thin lips belied his 
seeming humility. 

Only Peden the Prophet sat still and looked straight 
before him, neither speaking nor seeming to have any 
cognizance of what went forward about him. One by 
one they dropped away — the mother to the well, Gil 
to waylay his brother further on — Murdoch divided in 
mind whether to break Beattie’s bones or to lay his 
head on the stable door and sob out his soul. Eu- 


30 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


phrain — well, Euphrain went to pray as only a white- 
souled girl of the Faith can pray. 

So the two old men were left alone. Peden the 
Prophet raised himself to his full height, and strode 
across to where William Ellison stood still trembling 
with the agony of his contending heart. 

The sop is still in the dish,” he said enigmatically. 
“ I misdoubt ye have but cast out doubting Thomas, 
and left Judas who betrayed his Master at home to 
carry the bag ! ” 


CHAPTER V 


HIS mother’s keepsake 

It was by the well under the alder-bushes at the loan- 
ing-end that Raith waited for his mother. He knew 
that Gil was near, though he had not seen him go 
by. But Gil’s comings and goings were ever silent as 
the shadow of the bird upon the hillside. Raith knew 
that presently he would see his brother, but in the 
meantime there was his mother. 

She came. Her arms were about his neck and she 
sobbed on his bosom. For the first time Raith felt 
himself a man, and comforted her. 

‘‘ Your father will not always be angry,” she said, 
lifting up her head, “ he will forgive. I ken him ! ” 

** I do not wish to be forgiven — I have done no 
wrong!” said Raith, determinedly. 

“ Oh, laddie — laddie,” pleaded his mother, ** humble 
yourself to your faither — I pray you I Ye are my 
bairn — and oh, ye sang sae sweetly * The Lord ’s my 
shepherd’ and ‘Annie o’ Lochryan’ when ye had but 
three years o’ your age 1 ” 

“ My father will not forgive — nor I forget,” said 
Raith, “ it is better as it is. This is not a work of 
to-day I ” 

“Then, laddie,” said his mother, “gang straight to 
my brother David, that is a ship’s captain and dwells 
in the Harbour of Laith, in a braw ceiled house o’ his 
ain. He will not deny ye shelter for Marjory his 
sister’s sake I ” 

“ I cannot promise, mother,” he said, “ I have been 


32 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


outcasted. I am a fugitive and a vagabond on the 
face of the earth. They have driven me forth this 
day as a beast is driven with dogs ! ” 

** Nay, nay, laddie,” moaned his mother, ** that was 
never thy father’s thought ! ” 

“ Thought or no thought,” said Raith, ** it is done ! 
I am sent forth, my life only in my hands.” 

** Nay, nay,” said his mother, ‘‘but come back and 
I will plead with your father ! ” 

“ He is none of my father, for he disowns me,” said 
Raith, with boyish obstinacy. And also, deep down 
in his heart, there was the thought, unaccustomed and 
intoxicating as a beaker of strong wine, that at last — 
at last, he was free. 

“ At least, bairn,” said his mother, “ ye shall not go 
with the empty hand.” And she drew from a great 
side pocket, tied about and about her waist with cord- 
age, a worn, black leather wallet. It was fat and 
chinked as it passed from hand to hand. 

“ It is the butter and cheese siller,” she whispered 
with a kind of piteous glee, “ and all my own to give ! ” 
Raith hesitated a moment, but something of his 
mother’s Eastland sense prevailed. He took the wal- 
let and kissed her. She clung to him. 

“ I must haste me back, or they will be wondering,” 
said the old woman, clinging the closer, “ ye will not 
forget yer mither ? ” 

“ Mother — mother ! ” sobbed her youngest-bom — 
the child of her age, dearest of all. 

There was silence between them. The night wind 
over the moors breathed on them and was gone. The 
well water slept sweet and limpid beneath, unseen in 
the darkness. Their spirits were troubled by Some- 
thing, as it were the passage of a spirit. It made 
their hearts tender at the same moment. 

“Is she that terrible bonny } ” murmured his 
mother, low — ah, so very low in his ear. 


HIS MOTHER’S KEEPSAKE 


33 

She — who ? ” prevaricated her son. Though he 
knew. 

“The sodjers’ lass — I do not mind the name of 
her.” 

That also was an untruth — she could not get the 
name out of her mind — night nor day. 

“The sergeant’s daughter questioned Raith, try- 
ing to stand upright. 

“ No, no,” she said, holding him closer down to her, 
“ tell me — is she bonny ? ” 

“ Aye,” said Raith. 

“ She will never love ye like your mither ! ” 

“ She does not love me at all ! ” She scorns me — 
she laughs at me ! ” 

His mother was silent a while. Then after thought, 
she spoke. 

“Aye, that’s the travelled road,” she said. And 
then with sudden fierceness, “ I wonder she is no 
shamed.” 

“ Why for should she be shamed ? ” 

“ To turn a bairn against his ain mither.” 

Raith clasped her about, and kissed the wet, with- 
ered cheek. 

“ Shame on her ! ” she cried, stamping her foot. 

“But she has done nothing,” said Raith, “only 
laughed at me.” 

“ And the link o’ broom .? ” suggested his mother, 
cunningly but also wistfully. She hoped that he would 
deny that too. “ She never gied ye that, did she ? 
She just lost it, and ye fand it on the road.? ” 

She spoke with suppressed eagerness and some piti- 
fulness. 

“ No ! ” said Raith, truthfully, “ she threw it and it 
fell at my feet. But oh, mither, she laughed awesome 
bonny. I mind it yet. If ye had but heard it, mither.” 

Marjory Ellison stamped her foot the second time. 

“ Oh, the witch,” she cried, “ to cast the glamour 

3 


34 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


on my laddie — on my Raith. She micht hae had her 
pick o’ a’ the rest ! ” 

She held him a long time in her arms, betwixt anger 
and tears. 

“ Ye’ll be seeing her,” she said, at length, <‘oh, aye 
— dinna deny. I ken. But never let her persuade ye 
that she loves ye better than your auld mither. For 
she doesna — she canna. Nae woman can. How 
mickle wad she forgie ye, think ye } Were it but the 
matter o’ anither joe .? Naething ! Not her ! I ken 
young lasses. But your mither, bairn, she wad forgie 
ye gin ye cam’ to her reid fae head to foot in the blood 
o’ God’s saints ! Aye, gin ye were black wi’ sin as the 
reek that goeth up frae the everlasting burning, there 
wad aye be a place for ye here — Aere, where I suckled 
ye in my days of pride. Let the young seek the 
young ! The Almighty himsel’ canna say nay to that. 
But mind ye, Raith, when lover and friend forsake ye, 
think then upon your auld mither ! ” 

And without waiting for any reply, she went her way 
weeping. 

But a hundred yards off she turned and came run- 
ning back hastily like one who has forgotten some- 
thing. 

“ There,” she said, “ I lifted it when they werena 
looking. I had meant to pluck it bit by bit and cast 
it in the fire. But, woe is me, I canna ! I ken ye 
wad like it, Raith, or ye wadna hae carried it beneath 
your waistcoat. But oh, mind that your puir mither 
lies the nicht lang wi unshut e’e, think on ye ! ” 

She was gone, and in Raith’s hand there lay, barely 
discemable in the darkness, something familiar, thin, 
and round. One or two yellow budlets winked at him 
like glowworms in the gloom, and he smelled the faint 
perfume which had been on the silk ties. 

His mother had brought him back Ivie Rysland’s 
gage! 


CHAPTER VI 


SERGEANT GRIP TAKES SWORD EXERCISE 

It was in the clear dawn of the May morning. 
Raith looked over the steep sudden bluff above the 
Kersland quarry, out of which the Laird had built his 
new House of Kerslandhill. In the distance he could 
hear the merry marching music of the kettle-drums, 
as the dragoons rode away on some of their frequent 
errands. Then the fifes cut in, keenly for a moment 
as they breasted a brae on the rocky road to Dum- 
fries. Anon again they were silent, lost in the dell, 
and only the dry rattle-te-tap of the drums lifted itself 
to the young outcast’s ear. 

He had listened patiently to all Gil’s good advice, 
and taken note of his directions as to caves and 
refuges. But all the night long his heart had been 
singing because of this — that in the morning he 
would go down to the village, no man daring to say 
him nay. He knew where she lodged. Every morn- 
ing she came out to the woods to seek a nosegay of 
flowers — thyme, mayblossom, broom-flourish — what- 
soever of the brave common blooms came first to her 
hand. Then he would see her. Already his mother 
was only a little ache in his heart, very far back. 
Everything else mattered nothing. He would see 
her. She lodged with her father in Widow McNab’s, 
who (so they said in Irongray) kept good stock of 
both French brandy and Highland usquehach and who 
at any rate was jovial and jolly-comrade with all and 
sundry, especially with the gentlemen of His Majesty’s 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


36 

dragoons. For which, good reason why ! Had she 
not come down with one Rory McNab in the year of 
the Highland Host ? And, then, Rory getting his 
throat cut when out plundering too promiscuously, her 
consort had stayed on in the house he had taken for 
her in Irongray village. But little enough Raith cared 
for Widow McNab or her departed spouse. 

Very early, as he waited, watching the widow's chim- 
neys still solidly black against the pale lemon sky of 
the tardy east, Raith had noticed an unwonted stir be- 
neath him. First a trumpet blew three times, at the 
bridge head, then in the midst of the village and lastly 
down by the smithy where the burn flows over the 
road. 

Anon lights twinkled here and there. Lanterns 
moved along to stables, swinging from unseen hands a 
foot or so above the ground. Oaths military and all 
the rude vocabulary of the camp, such as his ear was 
still shocked to encounter, came up to him as he lay 
stretched out on the great willow-trunk on the edge of 
Kersland wood. 

Lastly fife and drum titillated his ear, and beat re- 
sponsive in the region of his waist-belt. They made 
him feel somehow proud. She had heard them all her 
life — perhaps that was why ! 

Lumbering carts passed creaking far beneath, the 
cries of the baggage-masters mingling with the sharper 
‘‘ Heigh-Ups " of carters encouraging their sluggard 
beasts. His Majesty’s dragoons were on the 
march. 

A sudden and terrible fear took hold of Raith Elli- 
son. Perhaps she had gone away and he would see 
her no more. The light in the East was brighter now. 
He could see Widow McNab’s white chimney, which 
Sergeant Grif Rysland had whitewashed for her with 
his own hands in the manner of the Low Countries, 
a remarkable complaisance in a King's officer, as all 


SERGEANT GRIE 37 

the village were never tired of remarking with some- 
thing of a smirk. 

Already the music was much fainter. The waggons 
rumbled more distantly, and only once in a while the 
brave rattle of the kettle-drums came to his ear as 
the troop crowned some eminence. Widow McNab 
was sweeping out her back door, and her hedge was 
patched white with towels and dish clouts. She seemed 
like one who cleans out lodgings, left empty after the 
departure of long-standing tenants. 

Raith rose from the willow-trunk, upon which he 
had been lying prone, principally on his elbows and 
chin. He moved forward to find out the truth — his 
heart thumping upon Ivie’s wristlet till you could see 
it move under his grey coat. 

So all in a moment, and though he knew the coun- 
try, quite unexpectedly, he came to the quarry’s edge. 
He paused aghast as he looked over. 

He saw in the clear morning light a little group of 
men beneath him. Two of them were stripped to the 
waist, guarding only their white shirts, and the sleeves 
of their right arms were rolled up above the elbow, 
The more richly dressed and laced was of the middle 
height, stoutish, with an ugly truculent face, now very 
red and angry. He was attacking with his rapier 
fiercely, stamping his foot and scowling, while the other, 
a tall man, his wrist low and his weapon extended, 
seemed hardly to do more than move the point of his 
sword in a circle. This second combatant was a dark, 
thin man. Bushy black eyebrows met over his nose, 
without forming the least curve of an arch. Thick 
mustaches, which perhaps owed a little of their raven 
gloss to the art of cosmetic, drooped from the corners 
of a firm mouth, with something grimly humourous 
even now in the set of it. 

The onlookers (all, save one, in uniform) shrugged 
their shoulders and glanced at one another occasion- 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


38 

ally when the assault waxed fiercer or the tall dark man 
turned his wrist with more than his usual easy dex- 
terity. 

Are you now ready to ask the lady’s pardon ? ” 
cried the defender, suddenly bending his black brows 
into a knot. 

Never — let her and you together go to — ” 

But the destination was never indicated. The long 
rapier, describing a somewhat larger curve, turned 
aside a furious thrust, an inch farther than usual. The 
dark man took a step forward, and by some magic a 
hand’s-breadth of dulled steel stood out behind the 
assailant’s back, a little beneath the shoulder-blade and 
on the left side. 

It was visible no more than a moment. The next, 
he of the eyebrows was cleansing his rapier calmly, 
while his opponent lay doubled up in an ignoble heap 
exactly as if a horse had kicked him. 

** And now, gentlemen,” observed the victor, calmly 
replacing his coat, “ are you all perfectly satisfied ? 
Or are there any more of Lag’s levies who aspire to 
insult the daughter of Sergeant-Major Grif Rysland 
of His Majesty’s dragoons } Speak quickly, for I 
have wasted overmuch time already. I must over- 
take my company.” 

But all appeared busy with the fallen man and an- 
swered nothing. The Sergeant-Major buttoned him- 
self up, looked carefully to every item of his equipment, 
brushed away a speck or two of dust from his sleeve, 
and swung his plumed hat courteously upon his head. 

If ye have aught to say to me — well, ye know 
where to find me. Good day ! ” 

His horse stood ready saddled down by the water- 
ing-trough at the roadside. He strode proudly away, 
carelessly too, as if he did as much every day of his 
life. As he mounted and rode off, one of the men who 
had been so busy, lifted his head and looked after him. 


SERGEANT GRIP 


39 


Sir Robert will be little pleased with this morn- 
ing’s work. Laird Houston was aye a great crony of 
his. I trow Grif Rysland will lose his coat, if no 
more, for this ploy.” 

Pshaw ! ” returned the other, he who wore no 
military dress, but seemed rather some surgeon by the 
care and detail of his examination, “ coats — what are 
coats of red or coats of blue, even when laced with 
gold ? He gave you every chance, if ye had aught to 
say on behalf of the Laird of Lag or any other. Why, 
my old duffel and riding whip equipped quite as bold 
a man as any striped jay-piet of you all ! To my 
thinking, ’tis you that will have to answer to Grier of 
Lag. He has lost a good henchman, and, what is 
worse, a jolly bottle companion. As for Sergeant 
Grif, I see not that he has done any great wrong. A 
man may surely cross steel with steel in his daughter’s 
quarrel ! ” 

“ Well,” growled the first speaker, “ I suppose you 
will give certificate that he is dead. Where shall we 
take the carrion ” 

“ Into the widow’s, yonder,” said the Doctor. “ The 
coast is clear, and if all tales be true, Laird Hous- 
ton kenned the road well enough when he was in 
life.” 

‘‘Aye, aye,” cried the third, who had not yet 
spoken, “ if auld Sandy hath the right sow by the tail, 
Houston will be brave and warm this coming winter. 
He was ever the prince of rufflers, spared neither 
man nor woman, and swore better than Dalzell him- 
self.” 

“ I have seen him drink eight bottles and sit in his 
chair without holding to the table. Only Peter Per- 
son the curate, could man him at that ! ” 

“ Glory,” cried the surgeon, “ if there be a God, 
and a judgment, and all that — what a black surprise is 
Houston getting even now ! ” 


40 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


And with this requiem from those who ksiew him 
best, the dead Houston, henchman and boon companion 
of Sir Robert Grier of Lag, was carried into the swept 
and garnished house of the Widow McNab and laid 
straight and peaceable in Ivie Rysland’s bed. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE ENLISTMENT OF A RENEGADE 

Raith Ellison was at the bridge-end of Dumfries 
long before either Sergeant Grif or any of his com- 
pany. For the heavy tumbril waggons jolted lumber- 
ing along the rough road, which, though of the regu- 
lation twenty feet from side to side, took small account 
of the stones and ruts that lay between. Then there 
was his daughter I vie to see to — his officer. Cornet 
Graham e to report to. This report was of the briefest, 
being as follows : 

** Well } ” queried the Cornet. 

The Sergeant-Major clucked deep in his throat in a 
suggestive manner and turned up his eyes. At which, 
perfectly advised. Cornet Grahame shook his head. 

** All the same it is a pity,” he said, ‘*the devil of a 
pity ! I know not what my uncle will say. There 
have been too many broils between the regular 
troops and the county militia. My Lord Liddesdale 
will be bitter. He holds hard to what Lag and Mor- 
ton can do for the King in Galloway, and this fellow 
was his favorite bottle-man ! ” 

*'1 gave him every chance,” said the sergeant, 
easily, ** three times did I hold him at my point, and 
three times did I ask him if he were not yet ready to 
demand pardon. Then I should have kicked him and 
come my way ! ” 

Cornet Grahame nodded. 

** No soldier of the King could do more,” he said. 
** If it were not for such as you. Sergeant Grif, these 


42 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


militia cock-sparrows might end by thinking them- 
selves soldiers. But just now the thing is something of 
a pity. Last year or next year, you might have spitted 
the whole gang, like larks on a skewer. But here and 
now, by Mistress Gwyn’s pretty thimble, ’tis some- 
thing of a pity ! Hey, what have we yonder.? ” 

It was Raith Ellison, looking very lithe and erect, 
who stood on a little eminence at the place where the 
river-road from Lincluden joined that longer and 
better one by which the dragpons had ridden town- 
wards. 

“A handsome lad, Grif Rysland,” murmured the 
officer, would he list, think you .? ” 

** I have seen the face — his coat looks Whiggamore,’* 
answered the sergeant, “ and yet I know not. There 
is a dash of the devil about him that we might make 
something of ! ” 

** Hey, lad, come down,” cried Cornet Grahame, 
** why stand there gaping like Gillyflower Joan at the 
fair. Hast never seen a red coat before, or heard the 
drums rattle .? ” 

Raith came down as he was bidden. His heart was 
beating rarely. He had seen a man slain that morn- 
ing, and there was the man who had done it riding 
along as comfortably as if he had done no more than 
crack a duck’s egg for his breakfast. Then the roll 
of the drums and the high clean treble of the fifes made 
him quiver deep within. What a life ! 

And his face flushed. For the thought came to 
him, as he saw the officers whisper, that he too might 
be of that band. Treason to his own .? The be- 
traying of all he had left behind .? Well, he had left 
it behind. They had cast him out. He was free. 
Stingingly sweet and overwhelming, the thought of 
riding in gallant company rose within the lad. Great 
sin is ever heady, and in the first days more than re- 
pays the sinner, by that joy of defiant pride which 


ENLISTMENT OF A RENEGADE 43 

wrought Satan’s original downfall. The rest comes 
after. 

** Your name ? ” demanded the Cornet. 

“ Raith Ellison ! ” said the young man. 

The brows of Cornet Grahame drew ominously to- 
gether and he shook his head. 

“ Of Mayfield ? he said. ‘‘Is not that reported a 
rebel hive ? We would have routed it out a dozen 
times but for Rob Grier, who hath some respect for 
blood kin, renegade that he is.” 

“ Let me question him, if such be your will,” said 
the sergeant in the officer’s ear. The Cornet nodded. 

“ You know my daughter ? ” said Grif Rysland, 
sternly. 

“ I have spoken with her,” said truth-speaking Raith. 

“ And where ? Out with it ! ” cried the sergeant 
truculently. 

“ In the Kersland Wood ! ” 

“And when and how often 

“ Both yesterday, and before — as often as I could ! ” 
answered Raith, nothing daunted. 

“ Do you know I have killed a man for less — done 
without my knowledge .? ” 

“ His blood is on your sword,” retorted Raith, “ I 
saw you in the Kersland quarry hole ! ” 

Sergeant Grif started, and took his hand off his sword 
hilt where he had placed it. 

“ It seems that you know too much, my birkie,” he 
cried, “ Will you give me satisfaction for the insolence 
of holding communication with my daughter — as did 
the Laird of Houston this morning ? Or will ye come 
to headquarters to be tried for a spy } ” 

“ There is no just reason why I should do either,” 
said Raith, who gained confidence in the presence of 
such men as Grif and Cornet Grahame. He under- 
stood them by nature. 

“ On the contrary, every reason ! ” quoth the Sergeant. 


44 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** By your own tale ye have spied on his Majesty’s 
officers. Equally, ye have held rendezvous with my 
daughter in the green wood — which is a hurt to my 
honour ! Therefore choose ye, Sir Whiggamore, fight 
or hang ! ” 

“ I will fight ! ” said Raith, manfully. 

“Ye have skill of fence, then } ” said Cornet Gra- 
ham e, looking at him with interest. “Ye have seen 
the Sergeant-Major at work.” 

“ I can handle a broad-sword with most,” said Raith, 
“ I had never one of these three-cornered blades in 
my grip. But for all that, I ask no favours of any 
man ! ” 

The Sergeant dismounted, with great solemnity and 
severity in his countenance, and stripping his coat, he 
pulled out his sword and stood ceremoniously on 
guard. 

“ The gentleman does not wear steel,” said the cor- 
net, “ let him have mine.” 

And with much grace he presented Raith with the 
hilt of his rapier. They saluted, Raith imitating his 
opponent as best he might. 

“ Have ye aught to say — in case.?” interjected the 
Sergeant-Major grimly. 

Raith drew from his inner pocket the little despoiled 
circlet of withered broom, and put it into the hands of 
the astonished Cornet Grahame. 

“I had it from Mistress Ivie,” he said, “will you 
be at the charge of giving it back to her .? ” 

“A lad after mine uncle’s own heart ! ” cried the 
officer, flinging himself from his saddle, “ he must be 
one of us. We must embody him at once, or else 
that thief of the world Peter Inglis may lay hands on 
him for his company of hen-roost thieves ! ” 

And the next moment, to Raith’s astonishment, he 
found his late inquisitor and his antagonist vehemently 
shaking him by the two hands. 


ENLISTMENT OF A RENEGADE 45 


Thus it was that the youngest son of the ancient 
covenanting house of Mayfield found his way into the 
ranks of His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons, commissioned 
to put down and extirpate all hill-folk, Cameronians, 
Conventiclers, and followers of devious courses when- 
ever and wherever found. 


CHAPTER VIII 


SABBATH SILENCES 

It was the third day after this before Raith Ellison, 
renegade, saw the girl of the cherry ribbons. There 
is reason to believe, however, that in spite of her start 
of surprise upon the occasion, it was by no means the 
first time that Ivie Rysland had seen the new recruit, 
whom Cornet Grahame was so proud of adding to his 
company. 

For one thing the military riding lessons were given 
on the sands down by Nith bank a little to the north- 
ward of Devorgilla’s Bridge, and the Sergeant-Major’s 
lodgings looked directly out upon that cheerful scene. 

But it was manifestly a vast surprise to the girl just 
the same. When she met Raith at twilight near the 
bridge-end, his figure already looked well-set and hand- 
some in its uniform of scarlet and blue. Ivie paused 
and threw up her hands. 

I surrender ! ” she cried. I am a woman and 
unarmed ! Moreover I have not come from the meet- 
ing-house at the bridge-end over there, but only from 
buying a few simple eggs for my father’s breakfast. 
He likes them raw, beaten up with white wine ! ” • 

To Raith she seemed even more lovely than ever 
before, her brown-black hair snooded with cherry- 
colour, the glow of the sunset mellow on her face, and 
such an all bewildering smile, something less con- 
temptuous than of yore, perhaps, but by no means 
less teasing. 

** I am going back to barracks,” said Raith, glad to 


SABBATH SILENCES 


47 


show his acquaintance with military phrases, for then 
only the lodgings of the horse were so named, the in- 
fantry shelters being called quarters or even ‘ huts.’ 

“ But what do you here, Sir Whig ? ” demanded 
Ivie, “ did not I see you last on your way home from a 
conventicle, full to the brim with the divisions of Sandy 
Peden’s sermon on the hill Tarbellion ” 

'‘They cast me off,” said Raith, fiercely, "I owe 
them nothing.” 

" What, you have run away from home ? ” 

" I ran not away — not a foot — my father disowned 
me,” repeated Raith, " he forbade me his door.” 

“ And why ” 

" Because — ” said Raith, and paused shamedly. 
But Ivie only laughed a ringing peal, till the douce 
burghers of Dumfries sauntering on the sands to drink 
the evening air, turned to look at her, the elders 
frowningly, the younger with gnawing envy. The red 
coats got everything. 

" I know,” she said, “ it is common to the regiment. 
Comet Grahame, beshrew his impudent tongue, hath 
made a song of it. It was because of staying talking 
with me for two hours in the Kersland wood. The 
sin seemed not so dreadful to me. I but asked for a 
little instruction, and, if I remember aright, you were 
even rude to me. T/iai (she added) is, as you will 
find, no safe game in this regiment.” 

“ Let us walk a little way back across the bridge,” 
she added, " it is not beseeming that I should stand on 
the sands of Dumfries with a gentleman private of the 
guards. Tongues are censorious, and my father can- 
not run a whole borough town through the gizzard as 
he did Laird Houston. Apropos, I have something 
to say as to that. It concerns you, young man. I 
trust you hold not much to your horse exercise. Be- 
cause you are likely to be dismounted for some time, 
and my father with you. There is a pother about this 


48 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


matter of the duel, and it will be more wholesome for 
my father to get some other employ for a current of 
months, and to take you with him. As I understand, 
you were a witness of the fight, and saw him pink the 
foul-mouthed squire. So to-morrow when Colonel 
Grahame comes on his inspection, speak to him boldly, 
eye to eye, and solicit to be sent to do duty along with 
your sponsor, Sergeant-Major Grif Rysland — as being 
art and part in his fault. That will be a service which 
my father will not forget.” 

“ And you. Mistress Ivie Will you remember } ” 

She nodded. ** I will give you a better keepsake 
than a wisp of besom-broom,” she said, softly. And 
again in the glowing dusk the smile glittered. She 
held out her hand. 

** Shake it,” she ordered, ** do not kiss it. We are 
not in the Kersland wood. Even to kiss hands is ex- 
pensive in the muster, and might stand you in a pistol 
bullet or six inches of steel in the by-going. It is no 
laughing matter to be the only well-looking girl on the 
King’s muster-roll ! ” 

She shook her finger-tips daintily at him, and passed 
away across the Sands. Raith turned and watched 
her go, her slender young body moving easily, with a 
swing that he had never seen in human creature 
before. 

And then, it struck him that at that moment 
Euphrain would be in the milk-house at home, and his 
mother — no, he would not think of that. His eyes 
followed Ivie Rysland at a distance, glorying in the 
turn of her head, and proud too of the looks of the 
burghers and their wives at his tall figure and rich 
uniform. 

A bold wench ran from a court-entry and laughed in 
his face. He turned on his heel, and she cried after 
him, Ho, my He-Saint in scarlet, where d’ye lodge ? 
At the sight of the Skull-and-Cross-bones by your 


SABBATH SILENCES 


49 


countenance. Go wipe your mustache with a psalm- 
book. A soldier — you ! No more a soldier than the 
town pump ! ” 

But by this time Raith Ellison, completely restored 
in his own good opinion, was out of hearing. 

It was the morrow when Colonel Grahame arrived, 
and, as Ivie Rysland had foretold, made both perquisi- 
tion and inquisition. Also, as she had advised, Raith 
stood up and told the truth, asking that he might have 
part and lot in whatever might be done to his superior 
officer, Sergeant-Major Grif Rysland. 

“ We cannot lose the sergeant,” said John Grahame, 
“ that’s certain ! A sword-arm like that must not 
swing from a gibbet in the wind, as Liddesdale might 
think fit to make it, if he gat hold of him in his pres- 
ent mind. To the Bass shall you both go. That will 
be safest — the sergeant to command, and you to do 
your duty. There is a new haul of prisoners from the 
West Country, and I ride out to-morrow at daybreak 
for the moors to drag across Galloway a yet wider net. 
Off with you. Sergeant Grif. And keep up your sword 
practise. For the day may come when both the King’s 
Majesty and John Grahame may need it sorely ! ” 

And the net which was cast over the moor countries 
by the troopers was indeed straight of mesh and wide of 
sweep. Colonel Grahame took the north, towards 
Carsphairn and the Kells, ground every inch of which 
was familiar to him. Douglas of Morton and the Laird 
of Shieldhill cut straight across the rough country be- 
tween Penpont and Dairy. As was his custom. Lag 
rode red-wud through his own domains. Never since 
the months after Bothwell had there been such a 
driving. 

Sir Robert Grier of Lag and Rockhall was at this 
time still young, no more than thirty years of his age, 
but excess of living and the ill trade he had taken to 
had marked him more like a man of fifty. Of his per- 
4 


50 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


son he was tall, stout, and strong — of that bitter, black. 
South Country breed in which opposition raises the 
very devil of savagery. 

It was among his own folk that he practised by 
preference — his tenants and neighbours whom he plun- 
dered in the King’s name. There lay the sting of it. 
He himself boasted of it. He would gar them bend, 
or he would gar them break. He said it in open mar- 
ket. He had, in the phrase of the people and the time, 
taken a thriep with himself, and if he must wade chin- 
deep through blood and hatred and engage the eternal 
loathing of a whole people, he would yet keep his 
“ thriep.” Such at thirty years was Robert Grier. 

This day he was particularly sharp-set upon ill-doing 
owing to the killing of his henchman Houston. And 
Peter Porson, the curate, who for ever egged him on to 
mischief by scraps of information slid cunningly into 
his ear, bade him remember that one of the Mayfield 
Ellisons had been present at the death. Lag became 
instantly furious, and marked the house of William 
Ellison for an early visit. 

Over long I have let them slip,” he cried, “kins- 
folk or no kinsfolk — I owe them one for poor Houston.” 

“ And beside,” added Peter Porson slily, “ the house 
is no better than an asylum for runagate preacher folk 
and the hottest outliers of the Wanderers! ” 

“ By all the hounds of Satan I’ll wander them,” 
cried Het Rob, “so that they shall never be found 
again, or my name is not Robert Grier I ” 

And the rough-riding persecutor pulled his steel 
cap well down on his brow. 

* * * * * 

It was the Sabbath morning. The stillness about 
the house of Mayfield might have been felt. No 
breath of air, the young sun level on the moors, the 
little alder and birch-bushes along the water-courses 
casting long shadows westwards. The farm-buildings 


SABBATH SILENCES 


51 


formed one great shadowy mass in the hollow of the 
brown cup — the taps ” of the hills were all lined 
hard and clear above. On the face of things only 
the crying of the lambs as they took the breast of the 
brae, trotting up and up the little four-inch paths 
they had worn for themselves among the heather. Gil 
followed Beattie with his eyes as he set out munching 
the oat-cake and cheese he had furnished himself with. 
Then the elder went without haste to water the horses 
in the stable. 

The Day of Days had begun at Mayfield, and out in 
the chamber at the barn-end, between the double walls 
which enclosed a snug if narrow bed-room, lay the 
great and famous preacher, Peden the Prophet. 

Gil went about his work very thoughtfully. It was 
the first morning that he had ever spent at Mayfield 
without “ the bairn.” Where was Raith ? Gil did not 
know. His place had been with his mother, all through 
that terrible week. What his father thought was 
known only to the God he worshipped leaning 
upon the top of his staff. To all others, even to Mr. 
Peden, he had been stern, answering only when they 
spoke of his youngest son, Better to cut off that 
member which offends, and to cast it from you, rather 
than that the whole body should be cast into hell fire.” 

Still there was a sort of divine hope in the hearts of 
all about the house of Mayfield that Sabbath morning. 
This could not be the end. He — the dreamer of 
dreams, the seer of the future, the prophet — had not 
cursed Raith Ellison. His mother minded that, and, 
though she understood no more of his hidden utter- 
ances than did the others — still, in her heart of hearts, 
hardly allowed even to herself, there was a hope — she 
looked forward to a day when the Man of God, even 
Alexander Peden, would bless her boy. 

And motherlike, that this might be the sooner ac- 
complished, she compassed him about with little atten- 


5 ^ 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


tions, going out to the barn-end between the partitions 
to make his bed with her own hands — the softest fea- 
ther-bed, the downiest pillow, the warmest blankets — 
plentiful provision in case of detention, such as a 
bottle of milk, cakes, and ale homebrewed. All this, 
till the Prophet held up his hands. 

“Mistress,” he said, “ye will spoil me for the sides 
of the hills, the cauldrife caves of Crichope Linn, the 
ledges and crannies of the Colvend beuchs. I might 
as well be in my ain manse at Glenluce as in the 
Mayfield barn.” 

But Marjory Simpson only smiled, and made assault 
all the more on the Prophet after her own recipe. 

“Prophet — or no Prophet,” she said, “he is a man. 
And God Almighty hasna yet made the man that a 
woman canna win to her will by taking heed to the 
meat he eats, the bed he lies down on, and the claithes 
he puts on.” 

She acted accordingly, and safe is it to say that the 
wardrobe of the outed minister of Glenluce had never 
been in such a state since the day he had shut the 
door of his pulpit, and debarred any intruder to enter 
therein till one should open it with the authority of 
God and the Presbytery, even as Alexander Peden 
himself had done. 

“ It’s a blessed thing my faither is blind,” said 
Euphrain to her mother, “or he wad ken his best 
breeks on the Prophet’s shanks, and on his back the 
coat that I never saw oot o’ the drawer but twice a 
year to air ! ” 

“ Hoots, lassie,” said her mother, easily, “ what for 
are ye speakin’ ? The Man o’ God disna ken ony mair 
than William Ellison. He would never find the differ, 
if ye were to lay him oot a suit o’ Murdoch’s auld har- 
vest corduroys ! And as for your faither, he wad as 
sune gang aboot dressed like the Pope o’ Rome, carry- 
ing the muckle keys, as wear yon black braidclaith wi’ 


SABBATH SILENCES 


53 


the lang tails that set him sae weel the day he was 
married. I juist e’en let doon the skirts a kennin’ 
and it mak’s a maist sober and composed coat for a 
minister — aye, even for Maister Peden.” 

“ And the cloak ? ” 

“ The cloak, lassie ? Whatna cloak ? ” 

This with an air of surprise as one who hears a 
thing named for the first time. 

“ Dinna pretend, mither, dinna pretend,” said 
Euphrain. “ If my faither be blind, / am no even short 
i’ the sight. I mean your ain mantle of good English 
whole-cloth, passamented with silk and single-welted 
with taffeta. Ye hae lifted the silk and doubled it in 
at the side with black fustean, — a fine thing for a 
prophet to lie out in the moss-hags wi’ half a stone 
weight of woman’s finery on his back.” 

“ Havers,” said her mither, “gin the bit cloak keeps 
him warm, his hurdies will never ken the differ. 
Prophesying brings no light in the matter of clothes 
to your back.” 

“ But what for are ye in such a taking about Mr. 
Peden, mother.?” persisted her daughter. “I have 
seen Mr. Cameron here, and also Mr. Semple and Mr. 
Hepburn, with others of as great fame, but here was 
never half this fyke, that ye hold about Mr. Peden ! ” 

Mistress Ellison held herself silent for a moment, 
and then, leaning quickly nearer to her daughter, she 
whispered, “He spoke kindly aboot him ! And ilka 
time that I tak’ a bite or a sup to the bam, or a 
change o’ raiment, I aye say in his lug in the bye- 
gaun, ‘ Put up a bit word o’ prayer for my puir Raith 
— I’m thinkin’ he’s maybe needin’ it gye and sair ! ” 
♦ * ^ ^ ^ * 

It was the time of the morning worship in the wide 
kitchen of Mayfield. Mr. Peden himself had come in 
to conduct it. There was a humble and a solemn hush, 
as he sat at the table-end with the Book open before 


54 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


him, gazing out of the little window with its panes of 
green glass, blurred like a muddy whirlpool. 

** The hireling seeth the wolf coming. He leaveth 
his sheep and fleeth!"' said the Prophet suddenly. 
And with that fell on a kind of reverie, his face wrapt 
and illumined, and his lips moving softly as if in 
prayer. 

The family all sat about, not knowing what he 
meant. There could be no personal application. 
Beattie was out on the hill-tops with his flock. If 
any danger threatened the house of Mayfield, he 
would surely warn them in time. What meant this 
then, The hireling seeth the wolf coming. He 
fleeth and leaveth the sheep } ” 

Then all suddenly Peden the Prophet bowed his 
head as if taking an order from Someone Unseen. 

‘‘ Even so. Lord,” he said. << Thy will be done. 
For the little while that remains to him, poor old 
Sandy’s bones can rest as well in a dungeon cell as 
on feather beds. But I grieve in my heart for thae 
poor folks, who hitherto have sheltered in the bieldy 
howe from the storm. But the Lord, even He is the 
God, that chooseth the good of all souls and doeth it.” 

And lifting up his hand to enforce the silence 
which only he had broken, he gave out in a loud even 
voice — ‘‘ Let us praise the Lord in the Hundred and 
Second Psalm : ” 

Thou shalt arise and mercy yet, 

Thou to Mount Zion shalt extend, 

Her time for favour which was set. 

Behold, is now come to an end. 

Murdoch’s sweet tenor lifted itself in the melody, 
and the sound of the singing passed through the open 
door, across the straw-littered yard, and so out upon 
the moor. And there it met with three companies of 
Lag’s troopers, lawless and savage militia levies, the 
scum and the pest of the country. Lag himself rode 


SABBATH SILENCES 


55 


well in front, black, tall, and red-faced, an ugly fore- 
boding of anger in his bloodshot eyes. But when he 
heard the sound of the singing he reined in his horse 
sharply, and motioned to his men to stop. 

“ Give me a look-on at your psalm-buik. Sir Rob- 
ert ! ” grimaced Curate Peter in his ear, “ I have for- 
gotten mine in my prayer-closet.” 

Then Lag, with a curl of his thick upper lip which 
showed the teeth like a dog before he bites, half drew 
a double-barrelled horse-pistol from his holster. 

“ This,” he said, “ is my psalm-book. Also it is my 
holy clerk, for right well it can raise the tune ! But 
for a wager, ’tis better at saying ‘ Amen ! ’ ” 


CHAPTER IX 


lag’s clerk says ‘*amen” 

“ A CONVENTICLE and more than the statute allows 
of people assembled ! ” cried the Curate, pointing a 
finger in at the door. But Lag, dismounted, pushed 
him aside with no ceremony. 

“ And who but Peden himself, Peden the Prophet,” 
he cried, gleefully, “ Peden with his face washen and 
decked as for a marriage ! Surely, Sandy, your 
familiar spirit was not under your hand this morn- 
ing ! ” 

There was joy unhaltered among Lag’s bold riders 
that day, and even by the chief the death of his hench- 
man was already half forgotten. This capture would 
be worth something more to him than a mere Baron- 
etage of Nova Scotia. Colonel Grahame himself had 
never made such a haul for all his hard riding, mid- 
night, twilight, and in the grey of the morn. 

“ Make all get without,” cried Lag. “ Put them in 
the peat-shed and set a guard ! ” Death to the man 
that lets one escape ! We will rout out more than 
these, I trow. The place is a perfect bees’ byke of 
rebels ! ” 

“ Your father would have liked ill to ken that his 
son should so have used his mother’s cousin,” said 
William Ellison, bending his veiled eyes upon the 
young Laird of Lag. 

Lag snapped his fingers and laughed hoarsely. 

“ I have given ye over much rope, ye old Whig,” he 
cried, ‘‘ you and your mother’s cousin both ! ” My 


LAG’S CLERK SAYS “AMEN” 57 

complaisance has marred me in the king’s service. 
Now I am done with it and you. Tie him up ! ” 

The men were removing the prisoners one by one, 
while Lag looked at a tally list he held in his hand. 

“ How is this ? ” he said, suddenly, “ you have other 
two sons, William Ellison — four in all. Where are 
they > ” 

“ One is with the sheep on the hill,” said the old 
man, simply, “ and one is not.” 

“ Dead .? ” 

“Aye, dead to this house and to the company of all 
men of grace ! ” 

“ I want none of your Daniel and Revelation rid- 
dles,” cried the persecutor, “out with the truth in 
plain words — where is your youngest son ” 

“I know not,” said William Ellison with lofty 
serenity, “ for cause I bade him go forth from this 
house. He went, and hath not returned.” 

Then a certain Mardrochat, a spy from the head- 
waters of the Ken, leaned over and whispered in his 
ear. At first Lag looked doubtful, but after a little 
he nodded. 

“It may be,” he murmured, “they are a cowarjily 
psalm-singing set, but after all there was some good 
Grier blood in them a generation or two back, and it 
may have come out in this young sprig ! We shall 
see ! ” 

He turned to the old man. 

“ Good news will not keep,” he said. “ I make 
haste to communicate it. I have just heard that your 
son has joined the sect of believers known as Cornet 
Grahame’s company of dragoons, and that he was 
present at the killing of the Laird of Houston in the 
quarry-hole of Kersland by Sergeant Rysland, at 
present a fugitive from justice ! ” 

The old man looked steadily out of his misty grey 
eyes in the direction of the speaker’s voice. 


58 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Of all that I ken nothing,” he said, quietly, “ it is 
possible that you speak the truth. Raith Ellison is 
no longer son of mine, whether he serve king or devil 
— or, like some I could name, even if he served both ! ” 

“ Have a care ! ” cried Lag, truculently. “ Men have 
died for less ! ” 

The old man motioned with his hand somewhat 
contemptuously. 

“Ye can only do that which your warrant permits,” 
he answered, 

“ No,” cried the young man, waxing angry, “ not 
so. As to Peden the Prophet there, I have my orders 
— to Edinburgh and the Privy Council he must go. 
But with you and any in this house, I stand upon my 
powers of justiciary. I can stell you all up in a row 
against the dyke, and make an end in two volleys of 
musketry. Then perhaps I might inherit the May- 
field as chief mourner and nearest heir. That is well 
thought on — what say you, you Mardrochat ? ” 

The spy laughed, as it was his duty to do. 

The women, Euphrain and her mother, had not been 
guarded like the others, but were ordered to get re- 
freshments for the men as fast as they might, lest 
worse should befall. Suddenly from the little, built-on 
dairy at the corner of the dwelling-house there came 
a cry. Gil, completely handcuffed and shackled, could 
only rise to his feet as pale as ashes. 

“ It is our mother’s voice,” he said, straining at his 
bonds. 

At the moment they were busy with great slow- 
moving Murdoch. But at the first note of distress, 
he rent the bands like so many thrums of wool, drove 
the men who tied him this way and that against the 
wall, and sprang through the door. 

“ Stop ! ” cried Gil. “ Hold your hand, Murdoch ! 
Sir Robert, I call upon you to protect your kins- 
women ! ” 


LAG’S CLERK SAYS “AMEN” 


59 


“ Some daffing of the lads ! ” growled Lag, moving 
reluctantly to the door, “ keep your tongue within your 
teeth, my Whiggie ! It concerns not you ! ” 

“ Then,” said Gil, “ I know whom it will concern and 
that mightily ! ” 

Nevertheless Lag made haste to go out. What he 
heard was a sound of loud crying. Then a pistol shot 
rang out, and Sir Robert was just in time to see Mur- 
doch, white to the lips, seize in both hands a great 
yoke-pole used for ox-teams on heavy ground, and with 
one swing of it about his head, drive in the skulls of a 
couple of troopers, who had issued hastily from the 
milk-house. These cracked like eggs thrown against 
a wall, and the lifeless bodies went down like so many 
sacks of wet sand in the violated silence of that sum- 
mer Sabbath. 

“ Shoot him — kill him — he has gone mad ! ” cried 
Lag. 

“ Come on — all of you ! ” cried Murdoch, with his 
back to the white wall of the house and the shut door 
of the dairy behind him. 

But the crowd scattered, getting behind trail-carts 
and pig-stye walls, from which they opened a scatter- 
ing fire. The bullets spatted on the wall, and buzzed 
off the cobblestones, but still Murdoch stood erect. 

“ Come on — or I will ! ” he shouted and dashed 
straight at the foremost. 

Then it was seen that the giant was wounded and 
kept his left hand on his breast. But his movement 
gave Lag time to run across to the ring-stone to which 
his horse was tied, and draw the double-barrelled pis- 
tol from the holster. 

As he turned, Murdoch, still mad with anger and 
pain, was almost upon him. Lag stood firm. The 
persecuting squire did not lack courage. Almost as 
one the two reports rang out, and Murdoch fell dead, 
doubled upon his ox-pole. It was but an hour since he 


6o 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


had been joyously raising the tune at the morning sac- 
rifice. Good simple Murdoch who had never done ill 
nor thought it all the days of his life — that he of all 
in the house of Mayfield should have been the first 
victim. 

Lag looked at his still smoking pistol, examined the 
flints, and then said to Mardrochat calmly as he set 
about reloading it, Did not I tell you that my holster 
held the better clerk ? Any Whig may raise a tune, 
but Sir Double-Throat here with his flinty teeth can 
beat them at saying < Amen V ” 


CHAPTER X 


THE PALETTE OF PETER PAUL 

That for which Raith Ellison had sold his birth- 
right came to pass, when, upon three horses supplied 
by Colonel Grahame for their needs, Sergeant-Major 
Grif Rysland rode out of Dumfries, his daughter on 
one side of him, and Gentleman Private Raith Ellison 
on the other. 

Never could any one week in half-a-dozen lives equal 
the delight of that first journey. The father was kind 
and familiar, being now away from the discipline of the 
troop, and having taken a sincere liking to the young 
man. As for Ivie Rysland, she was inscrutable, as ever. 
But it would have been a strange thing if some ele- 
ments of happiness had not mingled with her cup. And 
doubtless it was so, altogether apart from her state of 
mind with regard to Raith Ellison. That was by no 
means serious. “ Bothwell Brig ” she called him, or 
sometimes “ Young Peden.” Indeed, whatever her 
fancy prompted her at the moment, that was his appel- 
lation. But it was perfect June weather — June for 
once perfect in Scotland, and therefore compact of all 
excellencies, neither hot nor cold, too early for flies, 
too late for East winds, in the heart of the longest 
days. Raith lived for Ivie all day, and dreamed of her 
all night. He seemed to live a year in twenty-four 
hours, and the sweetness of stolen waters was in his 
mouth sleeping and waking. 

Sergeant-Major Rysland, a man of moods, in some 
of which he was not to be dealt with safely, had a habit 


62 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


of riding on ahead, thus leaving the two young people 
to follow at their leisure. He gave as a reason for 
this that his orders were to avoid all meetings with his 
Majesty’s forces, till such time as they should reach 
North Berwick, and he could present to Sir Hew Dal- 
rymple his mandate as commander of the post and 
prison of the Bass. 

It is not to be wondered at, that, thus abandoned to 
their own resources, the soldier and the maid had 
much to say to one another. Sometimes Ivie mocked 
him, but with the best intentions, mockery is of short 
life and dies down in prolonged tite-a-tetes. So it 
came to pass that mostly Ivie Rysland mocked Raith 
in her father’s hearing, to which the Sergeant would 
listen with a sardonic smile on his face. 

But when they rode together alone, it came to be 
the rule that after a passage or two in the old mock- 
ing spirit, they should lapse into those confidences 
which lead men and women far — generally the man 
by speaking and the woman by listening. 

On they rode across the brown moorland, through 
the quivering green pennons of the young woodlands, 
along the stony travelled roads, ever eastward and yet 
eastward. Green drove roads wimpled before them 
across the heather gleaming lonely for miles, with 
only Grif Rysland pausing on the top of some emi- 
nence with his hand to his brow to view the country. 

Mostly, however, contrary to all custom, it was Ivie 
who spoke, and Raith who listened. She told him how 
she had been born in Holland of a Royalist stock 
which had dwelt there two generations — of her father 
ever foremost in fight and fray, and of her mother 
whom she could but remember as wearing the whitest 
of caps and the most beautiful of lace collars on her 
shoulders. She had also learned to say her prayers 
in a foreign language. Her grandfather and grand- 
mother she remembered better, staid burgher folk 


THE PALETTE OF PETER PAUL 63 

moving seldom from the blue-tiled fireplace in which a 
tiny fire blazed. 

Then as she grew up all this vanished and every- 
thing was a turmoil of camp and march. She had 
never left her father since. Now in the service of the 
Margrave of Brandenburg, now in that of the great 
Count Palatine, next fighting for the United Provinces, 
and lastly in the newly raised guards of His Majesty 
King Charles the Second — Ivie Rysland had wan- 
dered without a home, without a friend of her own 
sex, with only the length of her father’s rapier (a very 
considerable something) between her and the insolence 
of tongues. 

Yet withal there was such a wonderful freshness 
and abounding youth about the girl that Raith per- 
petually marvelled to see it. How could it be .? She 
had seen so many things — wandered so far, known 
so much. Yet she laughed with the clear ripple of 
running water over the pebbles of a Scottish burn, 
and her smile was as winsome and eager as that of a 
child looking at itself in a mirror. 

“ I wish you knew my mother ! ” he said, wistfully. 

The girl moved uneasily and looked away over the 
trackless waste of bent and heath. 

“ She would hate me,” she answered, hastily. 

‘‘No, no,” he went on as eagerly, “she would not. 
She does not now ! ” 

And he told her all the story of the wristlet of 
broom, simply and impersonally as if it had been the 
tale of another. 

She made no comment, but there was a moisture in 
the girl’s eyes that had more to do with the sympathy 
of the unknown woman than with any feeling she had 
for that woman’s son. Yet it was of Raith that she 
spoke. 

“ Do you know, you were like a marble angel blow- 
ing a trumpet,” she said, smiling at him, “ I could not 


64 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


help throwing the broom. I am sorry. I am often 
sorry after ! ” 

And then, seeing the astonishment on his face, she 
added hastily, “ I do not mean the little cheruby 
things all winglets and fat legs, but the tall thin ones 
wrapped in sheets blowing long trumpets. You have 
seen them } Mostly on tombstones they are, all 
sounding the ‘ revielly ’ for the last day ! ” 

Raith’s countenance remained blank as before. 

“ No, of course,” she said, making a little gesture 
with her hand, you could not have seen them. That 
is abroad, in queer old German churches, quaint with 
coloured stone, black and white like a draught-board. 
It was down in the Palatinate, I remember, when my 
father was in command of a garrison, and I went pok- 
ing about just as I liked. The folk were simple folk 
and never looked at me. They liked plump girls with 
apple cheeks. It was such a comfort ! ” 

He looked at her, and would have liked to tell her 
what he thought she was like, but he lacked the courage, 
till she demanded what he might be staring at. Then, 
on his failing to answer, she charged him with looking 
at her^ which was correct enough. Furthermore, she 
demanded to be informed if her hair were in her eyes, 
if her nose was red at the end, and finally to be told 
what she was like generally. He ought to know by 
this time. 

“ Whatever you say,” she smiled, suddenly radiant, 
“ I will not tell — ” And she pointed forward with 
her hand to where the dark and sombre silhouette of 
the sergeant-major cut the horizon line. 

Raith looked at her, consideringly. 

It is difficult,” he said, even so. I never saw 
any one in the least like you before.” 

She nodded, munching a dried fig the while, her 
little pearly teeth cutting through the pale, leathery 
surface clean as a tool. 


THE PALETTE OF PETER PAUL 65 

‘‘There is no one in the world in the least like 
me ! ” she prompted. “ Well, go on ! ” 

“ But I thought it was what you seemed to me to 
look like — that you wanted to know ? ” Raith went on. 

“ So it was — so it was — I forgot. To your mut- 
tons, Peter Paul !” 

“Why do you call me Peter Paul ? ” 

“ Oh, he was a great painter in his time — his pic- 
tures would wrap up the world neatly in canvas — with a 
little stretching.” 

“ Well,” said Raith Ellison slowly, his blue eyes 
dwelling dreamily upon the girl, “ I can say anything I 
like if it is true — or if I think so. That is the bar- 
gain.” 

“That is the bargain,” said Ivie Rysland, beginning 
another dried fig. 

“ Then,” said Raith, slowly, collecting himself to 
tell the exactitude of the truth, for it was his hour, 
and he must use it, “there is no one so beautiful. 
That is true, but it is not that. Your hair ripples and 
the colour changes. It is a different girl one sees 
each time that you turn your head. It is like when 
the sun and the cloud shadows chase each other time 
about upon the breasts of Cairnsmuir. Then your 
cheek is pale, but yet the red of the rose leaf is under- 
neath, and (he hesitated) I think it is velvet-soft. Sun 
and rain and wind do not touch it. It is not so with 
other girls.” 

She laughed aloud. 

“ Did I not tell you, you are verily Peter Paul, and 
will win women by your voice alone. Never tell me 
that this is your first attempt. You are of the court 
and have practised madrigals on the damosels of 
honour ever since you were knee-high and wore long 
frocks ! ” 

Raith looked bewildered. He could speak his 
thoughts in words, but this was beyond him. 

5 


66 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ I was only telling you,” he said, “ you gave me 
leave.” 

“ Gave you leave,” she laughed again, but more 
softly, “ why, if I could ‘ only tell ’ like that, I would 
sit all day by the mirror and make love to my own per- 
fections ! ” 

She nodded to him to go on. 

** Your lips,” Raith drew a breath before he ap- 
proached this part of the subject (but it was now or 
never), “ your lips are not cherry red like those of our 
country girls. I remember to have seen the dawn look 
just like that — the little pale rosy flecks above the 
gold ! ” 

‘‘ Perfect,” she cried, clapping her hands — “a court- 
ier and a poet ! And they would have made a hill- 
whig of you. Never ! ” 

“ You promised to listen,” he said, “you can make 
game after.” 

“ I am not so sure that I am making game now,” 
said Ivie to herself. 

“Then,” continued Raith, taking his courage in 
both hands, “ more than all there is the smile which 
seems to say to me, ‘ It is a new day and a fine morn- 
ing. The birds are singing in the light and happiness 
has come home to the whole round world.’ ” 

Ivie stopped her ears with her fingers. 

“ Enough — more than enough — much more,” she 
cried, “ if I am all that, and can do all that with a 
smile, there is no use for further talk. Think of what 
a fine morning it is. I will ride on and join my father ! ” 

And smiling, she set spurs to her beast and rode off 
without once looking behind. 

“ Ne’er mind,” murmured Raith, greatly comforted, 
“ after all, she listened.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE TRAVELLERS HAD AN ADVENTURE OR TWO BY 
THE WAY 

It was certain that the heart of Raith beat with such 
glorious exaltation that he actually resolved to keep 
vigil all night before his lady’s door. It was in a little 
village near the head of the Moffat water — a mere 
pepper-pot scatter of half-a-dozen poor houses, with a 
manse set squarely among some tall trees. The curate, 
a sullen ignorant man, entertained the King’s officers 
with scanty fare, and offered Raith a lodging outside 
in the hay-loft. 

Raith descended to his sentry-beat, passing and re- 
passing, till the light went out in the window above. 
Nothing had happened or seemed likely to happen. 
So the young man sat down on a much chipped hag- 
clog or butt of wood used for cutting firewood upon. 
There he nodded and dreamed, now pulling himself up 
with a jerk, and anon sinking forward into himself. 
Suddenly he woke with a start. A man had passed 
with a gun over his arm. There thirty yards away was 
his dark figure stalking through the gloom of the early 
dawning. He went towards the window of the cham- 
ber, where high above, I vie Rysland slept the sleep of 
the tired and the heart-free. 

Rising stealthily Raith followed. At last here was 
a chance for him. He doubted not that this portended 
some surprise or attempted treachery. And of neces- 
sity his heart rejoiced. The figure paused at a little 


68 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


garden-gate which led down into a sort of vegetable 
yard, much overgrown with weeds. 

Suddenly the man shouldered his gun and fired. 

Hardly had the echoes ceased before Raith was 
upon him and bore him down gasping, his hands meet- 
ing about his throat. He saw in a moment that he 
had to do with the curate. 

The sergeant showed himself at the door, and ad- 
vanced hastily to where the two men lay struggling. 

What is this Ellison ” he demanded. “ Guns and 
death-grips so near a peaceful manse ! ” 

He would have fired into Mistress Ivie’s window — 
or yours ! ” gasped Raith, mentioning the more im- 
portant treason first. 

“ Let the man up,” ordered the sergeant, “ now, 
curate, explain yourself ! ” 

The dark sullen man gurgled a little, felt carefully 
all about his throat to assure himself that no perma- 
nent damage was done, and then said, ‘‘ I was but 
trying a crack at one of the hares that eat my curly 
greens, when your fool red-coat made me miss my 
shot ! ” 

“And us our breakfast ! ” cried the sergeant laugh- 
ing heartily. Then with a glance at Raith he added, 
“ What, man, have ye been sleeping in your uniform .? ” 

“I heard noises, and I thought it well to make 
sure,” answered Raith, as he thought, with much 
policy. But the sergeant gave him one cold keen 
glance from head to foot, nodded grimly, and went 
within. 

“ Every man to his liking ! ” he said for all com- 
ment. 

After this Raith took to his bed every night like a 
sensible man, and felt the benefit in the freshness with 
which he mounted his horse the next morning, his 
curls yet damp on his brow from the brook water in 
which he had washed, and, blue day or grey day, the 


AN ADVENTURE OR TWO 


69 

certainty in his heart that for twelve hours more, his 
life would be irradiated by the sunshine of Ivie Rys- 
land’s smile. 

They rode high up the Moffat water, and so into 
the upper circle of brown ridges which forms the cup 
of St. Mary’s Loch. Here the cottages were few, 
and the farms had all the stock driven off into the fast- 
nesses of the hills. Any travellers whom they sighted 
instantly took to their heels at the first glimpse of the 
military scarlet — even as a few weeks before Raith 
himself would have dived into the untracked deeps of 
Kersland Wood, had he spied Grif Rysland riding 
Dumfries-ward with his troop. 

They were evidently in a land of the Wanderers, 
and could expect but little hospitality, save that which 
fear extorted. Yet sustenance and beds to lie on they 
must have, if not for their own sakes, at least for 
Ivie’s. It was on this high moor and, pacing gently 
along, and Ivie rallying Raith upon his supposed pren- 
ticeship in lovemaking — all very pleasant and to the 
taste of young people, with only the present and each 
other in the heads of them — that suddenly they heard 
the crack of a pistol and, lo, there was the sergeant, 
sword in hand, riding furiously round a great brow or 
black hag, from which the country folk had been 
cutting peat. Nothing else was to be seen but a little 
whiff of smoke like the reek of a man’s pipe, rising 
into the still air, and the red soldier galloping with the 
naked sword in his hand. 

Then Raith cried also and galloped forward as 
fast as he could. But when he came in sight of the 
hollow left after the peat cutting, he saw half-a-dozen 
men, gaunt and white, in ragged, worn clothes, several 
still upon their knees, and some putting themselves, 
with muskets and pistols and scythes tied to poles, in 
some poor posture of defence. 

Whereupon with sudden qualms Raith also drew his 


70 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


sword and rode about to get closer to his sergeant. 
Yet for the first time it seemed that he was working 
the work of wickedness. There was boldness of de- 
fiance in the attitude of these men, but that would 
have signified little to Sergeant-Major Grif Rysland, 
who in the loudest voice of the exercise-yar^ sum- 
moned them to surrender to His Majesty’s mercy. 

‘‘And a long rope in the Grassmarket is the best 
ye can hope for, ye foul Whigs, — to loose off a shot 
at His Majesty’s coat!” 

The men continued to make what face they could 
pointing guns and porting pikes, but it is certain that 
the two dragoons would easily have shot and ridden 
them down. For indeed they were but thewless crea- 
tures, pallid with the damp caves of the moors, and so 
starved that they seemed to have eaten grass like 
N ebuchadnezzar. 

One thing only stopped the sergeant from ordering 
and his subordinate from obeying. On the black brow 
of the peat-hag I vie appeared on her beast, to Raith 
a glorious and surprising vision. The men beneath 
heard the trampling of her horse’s hoofs which made 
the bog tremble, and, thinking they were being taken 
in the rear, some of them turned their arms upon her. 

But she held up her hand. 

“ Poor men,” she cried, “ I am sorry for you. It 
may be that ye are the king’s rebels, but times go 
hard with you. Lay down your arms, and I will see 
that no harm comes to you I ” 

“ I vie,” her father called out, some little vexation 
in his voice “ meddle not in that which concerns you 
not. I am a King’s officer — on His Majesty’s serv- 
ice — I must do my duty.” 

“ Your duty — aye,” retorted I vie, “ ye are bidden 
to keep wide of all His Majesty’s troops till ye hear 
the sea-mews crying about the Bass. What then 
would you do with all these prisoners, if so be ye could 


AN ADVENTURE OR TWO 71 

take them ? Answer me that, Herr Reitmaster 
Grif ! ” 

What she meant by Reitmaster the present histo- 
rian knows not, but it was a name by which she often 
addressed her father. 

Then a tall man, obviously a kind of spokesman 
among the covenanters, took speech into his mouth 
and cried aloud, “ We hurt no man, and we fear no 
man. We are here to worship God according to our 
consciences ! Pass on your ways, you of the Usurper’s 
bloodhounds, and you, Madame, that keep company 
with such — we ask neither your good word, nor fear 
your ill. Between you and us there is a gulf fixed, 
which neither can pass over. Go your way ! ” 

“ And I pray you why .? ” cried Ivie, nettled. “ Is 
there not the same God above ? ” 

“ Ye company with the slayers of God’s folk — ye 
wear their colours in your hair ! ” 

The pale gaunt man pointed with his finger. In- 
stinctively Ivie put up her hand to her head. 

“ Is it not written,” she answered, “ in the Bible I 
see open there on the heather, that man looks on the 
outward appearance but God on the heart.” 

“And what,” cried Raith, suddenly finding a tongue, 
“what matters a ribbon of red to Him that maketh 
the darkness His pavilion and binds with bands of crim- 
son the cloud of the morning ? ” 

“And who,” retorted the Covenanter, “may you 
be who speak with the tongue of a saint and wear the 
livery of Satan ^ 

“ Have done with your prating, all of you ! ” cried 
the Sergeant-Major, practically, “ye crow like so 
many cocks and with as mickle sense. Ellison, there 
is riding of the hobby-horse with a musket tied to each 
foot for soldiers who speak before their betters. But 
I grant you yonder wench of mine showed ye the 
mischief of a bad example. But no more of it. Still, 


72 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


there is sense in what the featherhead says. We are 
here on a private errand, and till we are safe on the 
Bass we will serve Colonel Grahame and His Majesty 
the better by keeping wide of all authorities. Go your 
ways, then, lads. I would that ye could choose a bet- 
ter way of it and a more comfortable. I pray that I 
may never have to meet you in the way of business — 
set up between a firing party and a bam-end.” 

And with that the three rode on their way and left 
the poor lads with their whole Bibles and their tattered 
coats to recover their peace of mind as best they might. 

Slowly they followed the stream down the long vale 
of Yarrow, and it was not till after they had passed 
a great old strength on a hill above them, that their 
last and greatest peril befell them. 

The Sergeant-Major was riding down the path 
alone, Raith and Ivie a little way behind, when out of 
the slender covert and greening coppice of spring 
which grew all about, there rose a score of soldiers — 
footmen to look at, and English by their accent. 

They swarmed about the sergeant and the other 
two with the maudlin familiarity which so readily be- 
comes quarrelsome. 

“ Lucky dogs,” they cried, what a country is this 
Scotland, and what a maid ! We are bound for Edin- 
burgh, but for her sake would fain bear you company ! ” 

There seemed to be no officer of any standing 
among them. Indeed they were little better than 
hasty trainbands, sent off to the North by the fears of 
thdigovernment to put down the first mutterings of 
rebellion. One of them, heated with drink, ventured 
to put his hand about Ivie’s waist. 

“ I will help you down from the saddle, my pretty ! ” 
he said with a hiccough. “ I know how to humour a 
dainty maid, I do ! ” 

The nextr moment the red blood was trickling from 
underneath his ear. The sergeant’s rapier had trans- 


AN ADVENTURE OR TWO 73 

fixed it as neatly as a pork-butcher’s skewer and the 
man screamed with the pain. 

That will teach you to keep your hands off my 
daughter!” cried Grif Rysland, his face taking on 
that stony expression which Raith had noticed before 
in the quarry, and the black bar of his brows gather- 
ing ominously into a knot. 

“ Rein back, all! ” he cried. Get out of the press 
of these curs ! ” 

At his words Raith and Ivie turned, and rode a 
little back. When they looked again the train-hands 
had bent their muskets upon them and were mani- 
festly meditating mischief. 

“ You have wounded our mate,” cried one who wore 
some uncertain badge of rank on his sleeve, “ we will 
make you pay for that — in spite of your red coats to 
which you may have a right or not.” 

“ I demand to see your officer,” said Grif Rysland, 
sternly. I will report the affair to Colonel Grahame. 
You shall be taught what it is to ruffle with his 
Majesty’s Dragoons! ” 

“ That for your Grahames and all such beggarly 
Scots,” cried the Englishman. We are under my 
Lord Towton and care for no other man except 
Captain Sibthorne.” 

Nor very much for either of them ! ” called out 
another. 

The matter grew manifestly serious. For a score 
of muskets were loaded and at full cock, all aimed 
more or less accurately at the little party of three. 
Any moment one of them might go off, and then 
what might happen none could foresee. For the first 
time Grif Rysland, whose temper was by no means 
sanctified, felt the awkwardness of travelling with a 
girl. Left to himself he would have charged the rab- 
ble and taken his chance, Raith also taking his. 

But it was manifestly necessary to temporize. 


74 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


I ride on His Majesty’s business,” he said. << Let 
me speak apart with whoever commands among you, 
and I will convince him of the fact.” 

“ I donnat knaw there is much differ among us,” 
said the man with the draggled gold lace on his arm, 
“but till Captain Sibthorne comes back from the 
town down by, I avow there is none that hath a bet- 
ter claim than I.” 

“ Come apart with me then,” said the Sergeant- 
Major. “ Leave your arms behind you — I will leave 
mine.” 

And so saying he delivered his sword and carbine to 
Raith, retaining however his holster pistols in case of 
treachery. 

The two ambassadors now retired and conferred 
apart. Raith and Ivie were left alone. The girl 
seemed perfectly calm, and continued her previous 
light talk as if nothing were the matter. 

She noticed the young man’s surprise. 

“ Ah,” she said, “ you do not yet know my father. 
Why, I have seen him draw himself and me out of 
the grasp of twice as many enemies as easily as he 
will out of the clutches of these tipsy louts.” 

Her confidence was indeed rapidly and amply 
justified. 

First there was a quick flow of low talk on the part 
of the sergeant — to which followed the exhibition of 
sealed papers, at which the envoy looked with un- 
comprehending respect. 

Then the envoy ran back to his comrades, who a 
little awed by all this parade, grouped hastily about 
him. It was not clear what he said to them, but it 
was manifest that they too were duly impressed. 

Indeed they drew back to either side of the way, 
and saluted to the best of their several abilities. 

“ I hope,” said the ambassador, as the three riders 
filed past, “ that you will say nothing of this to our 


AN ADVENTURE OR TWO 


75 


Captain Sibthome if you chance to meet him on the 
way to yonder town — Selkirk is the name of it, nor 
yet to their Highnesses of the Privy Council. It was 
but a few poor lads’ jest — lads that would mean no 
harm — no, not to a dog, being at the time as far gone 
in liquor as there was liquor to sarve round, which to 
my mind was shameful little and a disgrace to the 
King’s service ! ” 

“ Reason the more to bear away over the ridges and 
so shun the Selkirk road,” remarked Sergeant Grif. 
“ We do not want Captain Sibthome to ask us any 
more questions on his way to report himself and his 
blackguard commando to my Lord of Liddesdale, who 
in the meantime loves me not because of that little 
affair in the Kersland quarryhole.” 

However, thanks perhaps to the detour which they 
now made, they saw nothing further of the English 
forces, officers or men, and indeed little of any living 
soul till they were within sight of North Berwick, and 
Sergeant Major Rysland was enquiring for the abode 
of Sir Hew Dairy mple, to whom he had a letter to 
communicate. 

Before he went off to seek Sir Hew, he had a word 
for I vie and Raith. 

<< Colonel Grahame bade me take notice that he had 
spoken of me in the letter as one Captain John Grif, 
sent to take over the command of the Bass. ’Tis 
but brevet rank, but hearken. Mistress Ivie Grif, you 
will remember your name when spoken to, and as for 
the lad here, he had best hold his tongue in the pres- 
ence of strangers as becomes a modest man and a gen- 
tleman private of His Majesty’s dragoon guard.” 


CHAPTER XII 


GRIP TAKES COMMAND OF THE BASS 

They went out to the Bass at midnight, I vie 
wrapped about in her father’s great cloak sitting be- 
side the sergeant in the stern of the boat. Raith was 
in the bow, and each time that the waves jabbled and 
the spray lifted, he felt on his lips the strange salt 
tang of the sea. At the landing-place men stood ready 
to receive them, and as the surg#- heaved the boat up, 
they were deposited one by one on the black and slip- 
pery rocks. 

And then the morning. Raith had never seen the 
like nor conceived it in his heart — the heart of a land- 
ward boy to whom “ the sea ” was but a word, or at 
most a mill-pond grown larger. 

Instead of pathways over which the leaves met green 
and whispering — not a tree, not a bush, not so much 
as a bracken. Instead of coy waters heard long be- 
fore they were seen, the rude leaguer of the sea waves 
beat about him. And far below and still farther above 
him he stood amazed at the abrupt skyward heaving 
of the huge hull of rock on which he stood. 

The place had wanted a governor for some time so 
the house, decently furnished and appointed as it was, 
had stood empty. Then it was that Raith saw Ivie 
Rysland in a new guise. White-aproned from shoulder 
to ankle, the strings tied about her lithe waist, light 
upon the foot, swaying willowy from the hips, all prac- 
tical and equally swift to see and to do, Ivie was a 


GRIP TAKES COMMAND 77 

revelation to him. She had early demanded him of 
the commandant for an orderly. 

‘‘ We know him — he is a youth of his word ! ” said 
Ivie with a straight look at her father. 

“ And also he knows me,” replied Grif Rysland with 
a smile perhaps less grim than usual. 

But indeed it was this curious truthfulness of 
Raith’s — more an incapacity than a virtue — which gave 
him so many privileges with Ivie Rysland and her 
father. Even when she teased him to “tell about 
herself,” there was a curious melting in her heart as 
she listened. She knew that Raith Ellison would 
speak no word of untruth to curry a moment’s favour 
with her. It might all be very foolish and very boy- 
ish but she knew, nevertheless, that every word issued 
clean-stricken from the mint-die of his heart. 

That is a great thing with any woman and inclined 
the girl to a certain favour, though she still continued 
to laugh at him. And her father approved even when 
he said, “ Have a care, little one. The blac^is of good 
steel, but it is yet untried.” 

Ivie gazed at her father with wide-open eyes then 
laughing lightly, put out her hands and lifted up one 
flange of his huge black mustache. Upon the spot 
thus laid bare she deposited a kiss. 

“ The days will be shorter and longer several times,” 
she said, “ before little Ivie takes leave of her dad for 
any young springald with a curly pate ! Do not be 
afraid.” 

“ I am noways afraid,” quoth the sergeant, “ that is, 
for you — but the lad ? What of him ? ” 

“He.!^” cried Ivie, with mighty contempt, “oh, 
Raith Ellison does very well to wash floors and carry 
water. Do not take my plaything from me, I pray 
you, field-marshal — at least not here on this sea-gull 
perch ! ” 

The brevet-captain shrugged his shoulders and went 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


;8 

off down to the little fortress, most part of which had 
been turned into prison cells for the Covenant folk. 
It was poorly occupied for the moment. For some of 
its pensioners had gone to feed the fishes as the re- 
sult (they said) of a sort of low prison fever prevalent 
during the winter, but more likely of the cruelty and 
hard treatments of the last governor. Others had 
been shipped off to the plantations in ships unsea- 
worthy and unfortunate, only to perish on the rude 
coasts of the Orcades and Labrador. 

The soldiers in garrison on the Bass rather sullenly 
submitted to the new governor’s first orders. They 
were not of the regular military establishment re- 
cently brought to such a height of well-drilled perfec- 
tion in Scotland, on the model of the discipline of the 
great Gustavus. Some dozen Highland gillies, the 
wrack of the retiring tide of the Highland Host, a few 
ex-turnkeys from the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, some 
veterans of the Magistrates’ Town Guard, with a stray 
countrym^ or two, and some fisher lads from North 
Berwick and Tantallon, who kept a foothold on the 
rock to divert the supplying of victual for the garrison 
(and the sea-carriage thereof) into the pockets of their 
kinsfolk — not it is surmised without some ultimate 
profit to themselves — these made up the garrison of 
the Bass. 

“A mutinous, ill-scraped crew ! ” was Grif Rysland’s 
verdict at the first glance, “ but faith of Saint Denis, 
John Grahame sent the right man to the right place. 
In eight days I will have them tramping up and down 
the rigging of this bespattered bird-cage as steadily as 
if they were marching across the Dam of the Amstel 
of a Sunday morning.” 

And so it was. But there were moving spells in 
the doing of it. At the first drill it seemed that 
there were never more than two-thirds of the men on 
their legs at a time. Brevet-Captain Grif knocked 


GRIP TAKES COMMAND 


79 


them down one after another, front rank and rear 
rank, right and left. If there had been a ball cart- 
ridge in any man’s pouch he would have stood an ex- 
cellent chance of being shot. But he had posted 
Raith a little way above with orders to blow the brains 
out of the first man who broke ranks or disobeyed a 
command. 

After the ordeal the new commander explained 
matters. 

“Ye are a gather-up of poisonous gutterbluids, as 
ever man saw. But we will do very well together 
when once we understand one another. I am sent 
here that ye should do my bidding — and that with 
great suddenness. Else will I heave ye one by one 
over the cliff. Ye will learn the quarterstaff exercise 
from me, and the singlestick. I will lounder ye heartily, 
front, side and rearwards. Then at the broadsword I 
will take three of you at a time, and tickle you one 
after the other in the short rib — or indeed where you 
will. Choose the spot and I will gar the sword’s point 
find it out. Then as for musket practice, that we will 
see to also. Raith, lend me your gun. Look at yon- 
der shag that holds its neck outstretched and extends 
its wings like wind-vanes.” 

The governor of the Bass took the gun, looked a 
little to the priming, and with a short aim fired, and 
the head of the bird fell off — the neck being cut clean 
through by the bullet. 

“ Yes,” he said, as if resuming an interrupted lec- 
ture into which a somewhat foolish experiment had 
been interpolated, “it is well to practice much with 
the musket. It is the foundation of military service 
and here on the Bass we must not neglect it. Fall 
out, men. Set a guard, and see to it that the prison- 
ers cleanse their cells according to the order. Do 
not behave butcherly and walk softly or I, your gov- 
ernor, will take order with you ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE NEW STOCK 

So busy was Raith with his orderly-ship to Ivie 
Rysland up at the governor’s house that almost be 
forgot the end and purpose of the present military 
establishment on the Bass. 

A new joy, the joy of labour shared between two, 
was bom in them. Or at least Raith found it so. 
Never had so much happiness grown out of the com- 
mon details of scouring and scrubbing, so much con- 
science been put into the work of a whitewash brush, 
so much courtship into the act of chimney-sweeping. 
Fresh water was scarce on the Bass, but Raith de- 
scended and ascended as upon golden stairs to and 
from the white run of surf, bringing up each time 
double pails without spilling a drop. This served for 
all the operations which could be performed with sea- 
water. He seemed never in the least tired. A smile 
paid (and overpaid) all. The mere sight of that busy 
flitting figure too busy to talk, too engaged in the 
press of affairs even to listen — there was a community 
of toil about it which brought him nearer to her hour 
by hour. So at least thought Raith Ellison. 

The house of Mayfield troubled him sometimes for 
a little, but the sight of Ivie beckoning him from the 
door step to make haste wiped the slate clean in a 
moment. All had always gone well at Mayfield. 
So it would now. And besides, had he not been 
disowned and outcasted ? That ought to be suffi- 
cient. 


THE NEW STOCK 


8i 


Yet sometimes when the nights were calm he heard 
mysterious moanings and roarings from the caves be- 
neath. Then he would rise and walk out into the 
grey and indigo night. Steep as a roof the island 
mounted away above. Equally suddenly it fell away 
at his feet. The sour smell of nesting-birds and dead 
sea-weed came to him from the right and the left. 
He knew that the cliffs lay that way. A solan goose 
said K-r-r-r-r-a-a-a^ and instantly circumventing the 
isle with ten thousand K-r-r-a-a-k-r-r-r-as the light- 
sleeping gannets answered. Kittiwakes chattered like 
schoolgirls, asking what it was all about. The guille- 
mots shrilly objected to being awaked, while all 
through the night ever and anon Raith saw a bird or 
two restlessly sweeping round and round the huge 
rock, looking for the egg which a rival had appro- 
priated or which perchance had been pulled over the 
cliff by the bereaved mother herself as she clumsily 
cast herself into the void. 

As the dawning came each morning it was Raith’s 
duty to meet the boat which brought the provisions 
for the Bass from the shore — the fresh killed meat, 
the baked bread from North Berwick, milk from Tan- 
tallon farm, together with any letters there might be 
for the governor, the garrison, or the prisoners. All 
of these Raith of course took to the governor, who 
alone had the power of deciding whether a soldier 
might receive a letter from his sweetheart that might 
make him discontented in his isolation, or if a prisoner 
would be the worse of a lengthy epistle from “ an old 
praying pious comrade yet out of bonds,” or whether 
the said epistle covered, under its subtle harmony of 
phrase, any possible treason against Charles our King. 
A difficult task sometimes, but one that Grif Rysland 
attacked with the resolution to do the duty for which 
he was paid as if he were besieging a fortress in the 
Low Countries under the Prince of Orange or drilling 
6 


82 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

the waifs and strays down yonder in the Castle of the 
Bass. 

Of the state of mind of Ivie Rysland towards her or- 
derly it is hard for a chronicler to condense any faith- 
ful account. Let it rather be judged by a conversation 
which took place between them one morning after the 
letters had been worked through by the governor and 
he had gone down with them to the Castle itself. 

The labour of the house was mostly done. A space 
had been cleared and elaborately ornamented with 
paths. All rubbish had been thrown over the cliff, 
and the small garden in the hollow above set in such 
order as was possible. It was in this latter place that 
they talked together. They had been working steadily 
and silently till suddenly Ivie threw up her hands 
with a gesture of surfeit. 

“ Enough ! ” she cried, “ sit down and talk to me. 
My tongue has almost forgotten the way.” 

She rested on a little seat made of driftwood brought 
from beneath and laid on the flat-cloven stones of 
which there were no lack on the Bass — rather, to be 
exact, fragments broken from the nearest cliffs with a 
crowbar. 

“ ‘ Gallowa ’ ” she said, “ do you know that it is a 
full week since you looked at me .? I should be glad 
to know what you mean by it.” 

Mistress Ivie,” said Raith, “ a man cannot carry 
two pailfuls of water up a kirk steeple without looking 
well to his going. But, an it please you, I am most 
ready and anxious to make amends now ! ” 

And indeed it was true that he looked at her stead- 
ily, especially at the eyes which were somewhat mis- 
chievously fixed upon him. 

‘‘ You profit by your lessons,” she said, but I notice 
there is less about roseleaves and sunsets than of old.” 

It was the sunrise — the little rosy flakes that 
mount upward — ,” began truthful Raith. 


THE NEW STOCK 


S3 

Hush — hush,” she put out her hand palm towards 
him, never tell a twice-told tale ! What think you 
of the prospect of spending your life on this black 
knuckle of rock ? ” 

“ I am very content !” smiled Raith as she sat with 
her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. 

“ And why 

“ Because you are here,” said Raith, simply. It 
seemed very natural and even obvious. 

“ Do you know,” she said quite irrelevantly, “ that 
many would take you for a handsome lad ? ” 

Raith flushed crimson but found no words to answer 
those mischievous eyes. 

“ It is generally thought an advantage to a man,” 
she said. “As for me I am not so sure. I never 
mean to marry till I find a man like my father ! ” 

“ You have travelled far,” said Raith quietly, 
“ have you yet met any to match that model ? ” 

“ Never one,” cried the girl heartily. And then 
rising she sighed, a sigh which ended in a yawn. 
She patted her mouth with her finger tips. 

“ Do you know you are very dull today } ” she 
said. “ Men should do something ! ” 

Raith thought of the quarry-hole in the Kersland 
wood, and wondered how much she meant of what she 
said. But somehow he dared not ask her. All the 
same he resolved to practise the sword-play, the stoc- 
cado, the claymore, the rapier, all the newest tricks of 
fence as often as he could get the Sergeant-Major to 
teach him. He knew not that this was by no means 
what I vie meant. 

But he had no time to think the matter over. 
There was a crying far below down by the landing- 
place. Two boats had approached the rock all un- 
seen from the hollow in which nestled the governor’s 
garden. 

“Ellison — Ellison,” cried the sergeant, — “the 


84 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

new stock ! They are arriving. Come down and 
help ! " 

Raith obeyed. Buttoning himself in his uniform 
coat and girding on his sword and pistols, he ran 
hastily down to the dangerous landing-place of the 
Bass. 

He was in time to assist in bringing an old blind 
prisoner to shore. It was his father, William Ellison 
of Mayfield. As he did so he felt upon him the keen, 
shifty eyes of Beattie, and the quiet reproachful ones 
of Gil. Last of all there stood erect in the stern of 
the boat, his grey beard deep on his breast, the strange 
man whose regard had once before searched his 
heart. Mr. Peden said nothing till Raith, as was his 
duty, would have taken his fettered hands to help him 
ashore. But he refused, saying, “ Off — off, Raith 
Ellison, child of many prayers, ye have now neither 
part nor lot with us.” Then as if recalling himself he 
added, giving his hand, “ Yet the Lord has no pleas- 
ure in the death of him that dieth ! ” 

At the word the blind man turned. 

Who is this ” he cried, “ Tell me, Gil. Answer 
me, Beattie.?” 

Gil was silent, but Beattie instantly said, It is 
your youngest son, my brother Raith, in the garb of a 
persecutor. He is doubtless set over us here to tor- 
ture us in our prison-house.” 

The old man turned sternly away, the chains at his 
feet and wrists jingling as he painfully began to mount 
the steep ascent. 

“ My son Raith — ” he said with a haughty, set 
countenance, “ I have no son Raith. I know him 
not ! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE KISS OF PEACE 

The lightning had descended out of the heavens 
when they were bluest. Above on the hillside set in a 
little green handbreadth of turf, Raith could see the 
glint of Ivie’s pinafore white as a sea-bird’s wing. 
But even that was now altered for him. It could 
never be the same again. He had thought that in 
leaving Mayfield he was leaving the old life for ever. 
He had left the darkness — that which was darkness 
for him — behind, and in the light of Ivie’s smile he 
had forgotten the past. 

But here was his old life following with muffled foot. 
Shame fettered him as he saw on his blind father’s 
wrists the manacles of the King he served. Gil’s sad 
look was worst of all to bear. Beattie mattered not 
so much to Raith, save for the word he would send 
Euphrain, and Murdoch — and his mother. 

There was one relieving thought. Three of those 
at home had escaped. Though three had been taken 
— three were left. The past in Raith’s heart was not 
dead. Only the new thing in his life had possessed 
him utterly. Nevertheless he avoided looking at the 
patch of green far above as he ascended behind the 
prisoners and their guard. They were placed two and 
two in the cells by the governor himself an old and 
a young together, that the young might help the elder, 
and do the necessary work of the dungeon. Gil and 
his father were together — Beattie and Mr. Peden in 
the last chamber nearest to the precipice. 


86 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


When the irons were removed by the armourer 
Grif Rysland ordered grease of the solan to be given 
them to rub into the chafed places. Turnkey George 
Jex, a cunning old veteran who in his day had served 
against Cromwell, was trying to compel the prisoners 
to pay for this when Grif, returning suddenly and 
hearing the proposition, clapped George in a cell 
vacant for the day, bidding him buy his own meat and 
drink if he happened to need any for the space of 
twenty-four hours. 

Not one of the prisoners took the least notice of 
Raith who hovered about, anxious in some way to ease 
their lot and his own conscience. But he was antici- 
pated at all points by the governor, who having a soft 
spot at the bottom of his tough old heart was satisfied 
to assure himself as to the safe custody of his prison- 
ers without adding to their pains. 

** Who knows,” he said to himself very philosoph- 
ically, who may be on top tomorrow or the next day ? 
Man’s life is but in his lip, as King Charles and his 
brother shall find as well as the chimney-sweeper. 
What, ho, lad, whither away ? ” 

He turned and saw Raith standing gloomily at the 
comer of the regular sentry’s beat, eager to visit the 
prisoners’ cells but not daring to advance. 

“What, man,” cried the governor, “why so dump- 
ish .? You look like a calf that has lost its mammy on 
a visit to the butcher’s.” 

Something moved within Raith and he approached 
his superior as if to speak, but checking himself he re- 
mained silent. 

“ Why,” said Grif, again clapping him on the shoul- 
der, “ brisk up, lad ! I fear much there is some of the 
Whig left in thee yet. But these carles from the west 
will be well taken care of where Grif Rysland is in com- 
mand. Aye, far safer, far better for them than to be run- 
ning the muirs with wild Lag close at their heels !” 


THE KISS OF PEACE 


87 


It is my father and my two brothers ! ” said poor 
Raith, holding down his head and the tears coming to 
his eyes for the first time. 

Even the bold black Sergeant-Major stopped short 
at these words with a kind of stun as if he had re- 
ceived a blow unexpectedly. 

“Your father — and your two brothers! Ah, bad — 
bad I ” he muttered to himself, “would that I had let 
the lad go his own gait that day with the cornet. 
Ah, well, (he concluded) what ’s done is past praying 
for. To your work, Raith I After all you have no 
business with the prisoners. Go and do my daugh- 
ter’s bidding.” 

Leaving Raith to march gloomily along the narrow 
path towards the governor’s house higher up the hill, 
the governor himself continued his minute inspection. 
Water was provided in each chamber. It had not to 
be paid for as in time past. Also the small ale of the 
country was to be supplied to the inmates from the 
canteen at the same rate as to the soldiers. An inter- 
val for exercise was to be allowed them every day 
under suitable guard, and if so be that they proved 
tractable, and in addition gave the governor their 
solemn promise to make no attempt to escape, in time 
they might be allowed even the liberty of the Isle 
itself, which indeed one of the older prisoners, Mr. 
Frazer of Brea, had long enjoyed. 

The Ellisons kept silent after this speech, but Mr. 
Peden answered the governor. “ Sir, long have my 
bones lain on prison floors, but I shall thank you if, 
by your means, we are brought out into a larger place. 
Even though this be but our Isle of Patmos in which 
we are prisoned for the word of God and the testi- 
mony of Jesus Christ. Yet God’s word is like fire, 
and like a hammer, can break even the rock of Patmos 
into pieces 1 ” 

Meanwhile the young man had plodded wearily up 


88 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


the hill to the erst pleasant duty which had so sud- 
denly turned dust and ashes in his mouth. Ivie was 
still there. 

“ Well,” she cried, “ Gospellers or Hospitallers ? 
Which are they ? ” 

For by the latter name she was pleased to call 
the old soldiers and gather-up of maimed turnkeys 
who constituted the main part of her father’s com- 
mand. 

But Raith Ellison turned from her without a word, 
going directly to his water-pails. Ivie gazed at him 
astonished, and then, with the woman’s instinct which 
does them instead of reasoning, she came quickly to 
him and laying her hand upon his shoulder she said, 
‘‘What has happened.? Tell me! You have had 
some ill news. Is the fault mine .? ” 

Which saying from her lips completely melted him, 
and indeed whom would it not melt .? He could only 
stand a moment dumb and faltering. Then with a 
boyish burst of grief he cried out, “ They have brought 
my father and my two brothers prisoners to the castle, 
and I am set over them as their jailer I Call you that 
nothing .? ” 

Ivie stood aghast, stricken even as the young man. 
This was indeed no light thing, and there was no light 
consolation of words that she could offer. 

“ Your father and your two brothers I ” she mur- 
mured, “ they are in the prison below ? ” 

He nodfled, looking away out upon the flashing sea 
into which the solans were falling one after the other 
from a height, diving deep into the water, the white 
line of their passage being clearly discernable from the 
point of the rock at which they stood as if a great stone 
had been thrown into the sea. 

It was in that moment and not when they were talk- 
ing together that the first moving of the waters was 
made in the deep well of Ivie’s heart. 


THE KISS OF PEACE 89 

He has done this for me !” she said to herself, 
** what can I do ? ” 

And the shade of a wrinkle was on her brow as she 
stood apart and said nothing. 

Well,” she said at last, “perhaps it is for the best. 
Take a good heart, Raith. At least we can ease their 
most bitter pain ! ” 

“ They will not speak to me,” cried Raith, “ the old 
man, my father, denies that ever he knew me. Beat- 
tie, my brother, said bitter words, and Gil spoke not 
at all.” 

“ How are they placed ? In the cells I mean ? ” 
said I vie. 

“ My father with Gil — Beattie at the end with Mr. 
Peden,” answered Raith. 

“ Peden the Prophet,” cried Ivie, “ is he also here 
on the Bass } I have heard that he is a strange wild 
man.” 

“ Strange,” Raith answered, “ aye, but they say that 
the word of his mouth is as the word of God ! ” 

She looked at him curiously and then sighed. 

“ It may be,” she answered, with unusual gentle- 
ness, “ I have never learned such things ! ” 

“And I have no right to remember them !” mourned 
Raith remorsefully, “ I have forsaken mine own to 
serve their enemies. Now I walk free and help to 
keep my kinsfolk within prison bars — perhaps deliver 
them to the hangman ! ” 

She went directly to him and laid both Tier hands 
on his shoulders. She had to look up a little as she 
did so, and it- gave an unaccustomed air of pleading to 
her face. 

“ I thought,” she said, “ that you came here for my 
sake — to serve me ! ” 

Raith stood balanced in a strait betwixt two. 

“If you like,” she whispered very low, “ you can 
kiss me!” 


90 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


He kissed her, and in that great moment the solid 
Bass, the heavens, the earth, and the blue circling sea 
span round about him like a flurry of sea-mews. 

Suddenly moved by a sudden fright Raith looked 
up and Ivie with him. There stood her father, Grif 
Rysland, within half a dozen yards. The black knot 
was gathering ominous between his eyes. 

I asked him,” said Ivie simply, because of his 
father and his brothers ! ” 

The dark knot disappeared. The grim man smiled. 
He knew Ivie’s way. Or at least he thought he did. 


CHAPTER XV 


“LIKE AS A bird” 

That night it was not Raith who lay sleepless in his 
little shelter-hut high on the great oval hulk of the 
Bass, a leviathan moored in the fairway of the seas. 
Ivie looked long from the little window which her 
father had bidden the carpenter, sent from the main- 
land to repair the provision crane, to set upon hinges 
for her. 

Indeed curious as it may seem, it is true that the 
great emotion he had undergone that day, even the 
dull continuous pain at his heart, threw Raith Ellison 
into a deep sleep, troubled indeed but still heavy and 
unbroken. As for Ivie, she listened to the vague, 
distant cries of the sea-fowl and the instant imminent 
assault of the waves far below. Sometimes there 
would be almost a hush about the huge cone of rock. 
Then all manner of little wavelets could be heard clap- 
ping their hands with innumerable distant laughters 
and nearer at hand, light musical sighings. Anon 
the caves underneath would take to moaning. The 
surges would rise and fall rhythmically, clinging a lit- 
tle and then letting go with a half-reluctant break and 
dash, till the water of some ninth wave roaring in 
anger zoned the gloomy boss of - rock with foam and 
fury. 

There were tears in the dark eyes from which erst- 
while so many mischievous glances had shot forth. 

“Why,” she moaned to herself, “why was I left 
thus with no mother to guide me — a babe in a camp 


92 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


among men, my father’s sword for a plaything, as now 
the fear of it is my protection. I would I were a 
maid of the hill-folk even, like that sister Euphrain of 
whom Raith tells me. She is douce, quiet, happy in 
saying her prayers and in believing. Would that I 
could be so too, in that way — in any way.” 

She paused a little, and as she looked up the stars 
sparkled myriad-tinted through her tears. 

My father loves me, but of all that he told me 
nothing,” she went on, ‘‘ he always said that I could 
go to church if I liked but that I had better not go 
too long to any one since then I could be of the re- 
ligion of the man I married. Thus (he laughed) I 
would avoid domestic dispeace.” 

Though no one could see her she dried her eyes 
furtively on her kerchief. 

“It may be so,” she went on. “That is a man’s 
judgment. It suffices him. He is content with his 
own heart and the pride of it. But for a girl — ^no. 
Her religion should be made for her, fitted as a gown 
is fitted to wear, to cover her, to be part of her before 
the world — to shield her from that — that ! ” 

Ivie put up her hands to shut out the strange glim- 
mering sea light reflected on the water, reaching pear- 
shaped to the zenith, paling the stars, which she took 
to be God. 

“Oh, for someone to teach me!” she cried, “how 
happy are those who can believe ! ” 

Ivie was right. A man may go alone, piloting his 
bark through seas perilous, taking his chances of ship- 
wreck and ready to assume his proper responsibilities 
before all gods, but it is cruel for a girl. Grif Rys- 
land had taught his daughter nothing, and suddenly 
she became conscious of the needs of her girlish soul. 
He had made her expert at fence. She shot excel- 
lently well with a pistol. She could read and write 
better than many great ladies. She spoke French 


“LIKE AS A BIRD 


93 


perfectly, High Dutch well, and still remembered a 
little of the Low. Sergeant-Major Grif thought he 
had fulfilled his responsibilities. But now when there 
came something across his daughter’s life, sudden, un- 
foreseen, yet for which she could not but blame her- 
self, the maid was troubled. She would have bartered 
all her beauty for the quiet serenity of soul of a white- 
capped sister of the Ursulines — aye, even for the grey 
hood and mantle of douce Euphrain Ellison. 

The night wore on, and as it went strange and yet 
more strange things moved in the girl’s heart. From 
the prison beneath there came, with the first flush of 
the dawn out of the east, the holy sound of psalms. 
Then, clearly audible, the cursing of old George Jex, 
disturbed out of a dream of free-handed prisoners and 
fat perquisites. 

Yes, there was something in it after all. It was not 
only doumess and fanaticism, this standing out against 
the King and the King’s officers. There was some- 
thing else — something Ivie could not grasp, which put 
that rejoicing throb into the morning song of the 
prisoners. Ah, if she could but learn the secret. 
Slowly the dawn came up from behind the monstrous 
butt of rock. The sun unseen from where she stood 
at her window must at that moment have touched the 
horizon line, for swift as a thought, the shadow of the 
Bass sprang westwards. A vast cloud of sea-birds 
swept aloft in a wheeling cloud, saluting the summer 
day with a blare of trumpets — the high cree-cree of the 
terns, mingling with the hoarse k-r-a-a-a-k-r-a-a-ings 
of the solans in a paean which only died away as the 
birds strung out in every direction on their way to 
their fishing grounds. 

Presently she could see Raith moving sadly about, 
beginning his duties for the day. She scented the 
sour tang of the driftwood smoke, and knew that he 
was preparing her father’s breakfast. Her first in- 


94 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


stinct was to dress and go down to help him. But no, 
all that must be done with now. There was something 
she meant to find out — something that Raith even did 
not know. 

And again from the dungeons on the cliff -edge the 
song of the prisoners came to her ear. It was their 
doxology, their song of triumph, the close of their 
morning devotions. 

“ The floods, O Lord, have lifted up. 

They lifted up their voice : 

The floods have lifted up their waves 
And made a mighty noise. 

“ But yet the Lord, that is on high 
Is more of might by far 
Than noise of many waters is 
Or great sea-billows are.” 

No, she would not go down to Raith. The words 
were doubtless familiar to him. But she knew in- 
stinctively that of the root of the matter he was even 
more ignorant than herself. He was of her people. 
He had been dropped, the cuckoo’s egg, in the nest of 
the hedge-sparrow, and the inwardness of these things 
was as much hid from him as from her father. 

Dimly and far off I vie began, not to perceive but to 
desire. 

“ Why had I no mother to teach me some re- 
ligion } ” she said. She even tried to pray. But she 
rose from her knees scorning herself. She felt as 
one that mocked at holy things. For words she had 
none, not even thoughts — only a vague yearning 
toward something not herself. 

Poor beautiful untaught Ivie, she knew not that 
this yearning, vague, unutterable, not to be fastened 
down by human speech, is the true prayer — perhaps 
the only true prayer. So she arose dry-eyed and dis- 
couraged. 


‘^LIKE AS A BIRD’' 95 

“ It is not for me — not for me ! ” she murmured. 
“ It is too late.” 

She dressed herself listlessly and went down. 
Raith was there, and he greeted her eagerly, hope- 
fully, with the soul of love in his eyes. But there was 
a new thing in Ivie now. She put out her hand 
coldly, scarcely allowing him to touch her finger tips 
before withdrawing them. 

“ She scorns me ! ” thought Raith turning away. 
He had prepared her breakfast with an infinitude of 
loving care. But now he had no heart to wait even 
for the word of thanks which might be thrown to him 
as one throws a bone to a dog. Some terrible change 
had come over Ivie during the night. 

The girl ate but little. She was at the door again 
in five minutes, looking at him busy with the axe, cut- 
ting up driftwood into billets for the fireplace. 

“ Get a dozen bottles of wine from my father’s 
store,” she said, “ and also butter, cheese, barley-bread 
and dried mutton-ham. I am going to visit the pris- 
oners ! ” 

There was nothing for it but to obey. But Raith 
went sadly about his task. Though he was deaf and 
blind to the higher mysteries of his creed, he knew 
what the end of such an advance would be on Ivie’s 
part. Nevertheless he was silent. 

Down upon the Castle of the Bass, with its soldiers’ 
quarters and its lines of little cells for the prisoners, 
there shone the broad even sunshine of the morning. 
A sentry stood on guard at a small side postern while 
another paced up and down in front of the range of 
cells. In a recess half a dozen men lounged on stone 
benches in various attitudes of yawning vacancy. All 
the days were hard to get through on the Bass, and 
the soldiers mostly smoked tobacco — except those on 
actual duty — in little pipes hardly sufficient for 
a dozen whiffs, which thus afforded them a sem- 


96 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

blance of employment by their continual need of 
refilling. 

The governor had gone down to the landing-place 
to meet the morning boat from the mainland. 

Ha, what have we here ? ” grumbled George Jex, 
Turnkey George, in temporary command of the garri- 
son. “ Yonder come Governor Grif s wench and her 
lobster-backed floor-scrubber with a full cargo, bottles 
of wine — hams, provender. That is none so ill-done. 
There is more in the proud stand-off wench than 
George Jex had given the besom credit for.” 

“ Lads, let’s see ! ” said Maurice Tyars, an English- 
man from Lancashire, let a good-looking chap get on 
his jacket. I tell thee she is a wench among a thou- 
sand and doubtless will have an eye for a handsome 
figure. Out of the way there, Scotty, that I may 
slide the comb through my hair ! ” 

The others, mostly old seasoned veterans of the city 
guard laughed contemptuously. 

“ The best any wench can bring to thirsty soldier- 
men is not a well-fared face but what yon hullion car- 
ries in the basket — that is, a dozen of good sound 
claret — if two dozen were not better !” 

“ I desire to speak with my father ! ” said I vie to 
the sentry. 

“Ye will have to gang down to the landing then,” 
said the man, saluting awkwardly. “ Yonder he is 
waiting for the shore-boat and Lang-bodied Jock ! ” 

“ Tut, tut,” cried the eager voice of George Jex from 
within as he opened wide the gate, “ have ye no sense. 
Hob Halkirk ? Bid the leddy pass at her pleasure and 
a welcome to her bonny face, I’m sure. It is ever a 
pleasure to see — .” 

“ Put everything down there,” she ordered Raith, 
“ and go help my father ! ” 

George Jex rubbed his hands and glanced at his 
companions. These stealthily counted the bottles of 


LIKE AS A BIRD ” 


97 


wine as if they had been a score of sheep. Then they 
undid a hole or two of their belts, resolutely but with- 
out ostentation. 

“ It’s a warm day, mem,” said George Jex, saluting 
again, “ and it was desperate kind o’ ye to think on us 
lads o’ the guard doin’ His Majesty’s pleasure here on 
the Bass — weary faa’ the ugly hulk o’ it, birsling in 
the heat o’ the sun on its bare barren rocks like braxy- 
ham in a frying pan.” 

“ Pick up the basket of wine and the other provi- 
sions,” commanded I vie pointing with her hand, 
“ quick ! They are for distribution among the poor 
unfortunate prisoners !” 

“ The poor — unfortunate — ! ” George Jex lost 
speech before achieving his sentence while the lower 
jaws of the entire guard dropped, in spite of the water- 
ing of their mouths. The wishes for the poor un- 
fortunate prisoners,” unexpressed indeed in words but 
eloquent upon the circle of faces in the main guard, 
shall not find a place in this grave history. 

“Be quick, sirrah,” cried Ivie, impatiently, “ or if 
you are too old and rheumaticky let one of the others 
do it — see, this smart young fellow with the love- 
locks. What is your name ? ” 

“ Maurice Tyars ! ” said the Englishman, lifting the 
baskets with a gay air. After all, she had picked him 
out. That was something — better perhaps, it might 
be, than many baskets of wine. Besides Maurice 
Tyars cared little for claret. He would rather have 
outfaced and vanquished a quart or two of right Eng- 
lish ale. Ivie could not have chosen better. But 
behind her mutiny, black and murky, fumed and sim- 
mered, and as for George Jex he grew so purple 
with indignation that his companions soused his head 
in sea water to ward off an apoplexy. 

They went to the cells. The prisoners of older 
standing took their mercies with quiet thankfulness. 

7 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


98 

Though these came from a strange hand they were 
yet the gift of God. Did He not cause even the 
wickedness of the wicked to praise Him, and all things 
to work together for good to them that feared Him. 
So it was written. 

But it was otherwise when I vie came to the cham- 
bers occupied by the new-comers. 

It was to that of Gil and his father — Raith’s father 
also — that she went first. Ivie’s heart beat fast. 
Raith had told her that Gil, quiet, still, grey old Gil 
had the heart soft within him like a babe’s. 

The door stood open when they reached the cell. 
Gil looked seaward, only the range of iron bars sep- 
arating him from the sentry who walked steadily to 
and fro along the narrow terrace walk outside. The 
old man lay stretched on a pallet within. But his 
blind eyes instinctively sought the sunlight and he 
basked in the warm tide of air which set gently about 
the rock from the south. 

“ I have come,” I vie began, faltering a little, “ to 
bring you something better than the prison fare. I 
am the governor’s daughter.” 

Gil knew the girl in a moment but characteristic- 
ally he said nothing. Gil’s motto was that in this 
world there was trouble enough without making more 
with his tongue. But from the chamber adjoining 
came the voice of Beattie, who had been watching 
Ivie’s progress down the line. 

“It is the soldier’s daughter — ” he cried, “she who 
drew away Raith. Doubtless also she sent the troop- 
ers to Mayfield. She betrayed us. The blood of 
Murdoch is on her hands.” 

The old man William Ellison raised himself up 
quickly. 

“Is it even so.?” he said, “answer me, Gil. Is it 
the heathen woman .?” 

But it was I vie who spoke. 


“LIKE AS A BIRD” 


99 


“I know nothing at all of what this young man 
charges against me,” she said, “ it is true I am Ivie, the 
daughter of Grif Rysland. My father was ordered 
to this place to be its governor. He will do his duty 
by you as a soldier. But as a woman it is in my 
heart to make your lot happier if I can.” 

“ Can ye restore me my son ? ” cried the old man, 
feeling his way with both hands to the door, “ give 
me back my strong son Murdoch, whom your father’s 
comrades shot like a dog at his father’s gable-end.?” 

“ Indeed I knew it not — no, nor my father either,” 
said Ivie, “ we had gone away while all was yet quiet. 
If any misfortune has befallen, we stand clear of it.” 

“ And the lad — the young lad, his mother’s latest 
bom ? ” continued William Ellison, “ do ye hold your- 
self innocent of his treachery to his own ? Was it by 
no fault of yours that he forsook his father’s hearth 
to company with the unbeliever — the man-slayer, the 
malignant ? ” 

“ But I am no unbeliever, and I could not help your 
son enlisting in Cornet Grahame’s troop. I saw him 
not till long afterwards.” 

“Ye are of the accursed,” said William Ellison, 
“ you and he together. Your net was spread — ye lay 
in wait for blood. Ye lurked privily for the innocent 
without cause. The curse of the Lord be upon you ! ” 

“ I have brought you wine and victual because He 
put it into my heart ! ” said Ivie, remembering her 
struggles of the night and gaining a little unhoped-for 
confidence. 

“ He — who ? ” cried William Ellison. “ Take not 
the name of the Lord into polluted lips! Ye know 
Him not 1 How should you ? ” 

Ivie bent her head. There seemed no more pride 
in her anywhere. But she had not expected that it 
would be as hard as this. Raith however, knew, and 
was thinking of it at this moment down on the black 

Lore, 


lOO 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


rocks against which the surf was booming and then 
bursting white, like bombs against an enemy’s wall. 

“ Indeed, it is true that I know Him not,” she said 
meekly, “ but I would know Him if I could ! ” 

“Amen!” said a stem voice at her elbow, which 
made her start. It was Mr. Peden called the Prophet 
who had come out and now stood listening unseen. 

“William Ellison,” he went on, “ lean not overmuch 
on your own understanding. The Lord’s gates are 
not all front-doors. I have seen a thing that is sur- 
prising. Without doubt this maid bringeth ointment 
for the Lord’s feet — spikenard of aspic, very precious. 
Set down the provend, my daughter. There awaits 
for you a stroke of the Lord, great and terrible. A 
mighty wind shall blow — a great judgment and a 
great mercy ! But fear not, thy sins also shall be cast 
into the depths of the seal ” 

He motioned with his hand and I vie moved slowly 
away, somewhat exalted in her heart — Maurice Tyars, 
the Englishman, following her mazed and scandalized 
at the prisoners’ way of speaking to the governor’s 
own daughter. They deserved the cat-o’-nine-tails to 
his way of thinking. 

The sentinel moved deliberately as before, his red 
coat showing against the deep steely blue of the sea. 
George Jex turned his back somewhat ostentatiously 
upon I vie as she passed out. Down on the rocks 
Raith was struggling with a heavy load. Her father 
mounted briskly whistling “ All ye Ladies.” He was 
quite near at hand. 

But Ivie was no more Ivie. A new thing had been 
born in her. 

She took the man’s meaning but partly — “Oint- 
ment for the feet of the Lord ” he had said. What 
could he mean .? A great and terrible wind, a disas- 
ter I But after that — hope — nay, a promise from 
the strange outcast minister, whom even his enemies 


‘‘LIKE AS A bird;* loi 

counted a prophet, that one day she should know — 
all that now she did not know. 

She met her father on the steep ascent. 

“ Hey, girlie,” he cried, “ what do you here — among 
the soldiers 

“ I was grieved for the poor prisoners,” she an- 
swered. “ I brought them a bottle each of your 
wine — and certain meats, more palatable than their 
ordinary ” 

Grif Rysland made a little wry face at the mention 
of the lost wine. There was never overmuch of that 
in his cellar. But he was in a good humour and only 
bade his daughter hasten home, adding, “ I must go 
into the castle, or that old thief George Jex will have 
every drop of your wine back into the guardroom ! ” 

And in this he proved as good a prophet as Peden 
himself. He tracked George Lightfoot to his lair. He 
ran him down in the third cell where he was demand- 
ing Ivie’s bottle of wine from its owners at the very 
sword’s point. Without ceremony Grif kicked him 
twice the length of the terrace, to teach him (as he 
said) that his daughter’s wishes were equal to his own 
commands. The prisoners were to be left alone — did 
George Jex understand that ? Did the others under- 
stand ? They had better understand it once and for 
all or he. Captain Grif, acting Governor of the Castle 
of the Bass, would be heard from. And then they 
would all wish that they had never been born — or at 
least that they had died in teething ! 


CHAPTER XVI 


GEORGE JEX’S JUST PROVIDENCE 

And now there falls to be told something that hath 
been related to the reproach of Mr. Peden, time and 
again, in various books and pamphlets, and that too 
propagated as much by his friends as by his enemies. 
But seeing that we know the beginning and the end 
of the matter, it remains but to tell the truth, and lo ! 
there is a new face on the fact. 

It concerns the tale of that young lass who is said 
to have gone near to Mr. Peden’s cell of purpose to 
annoy him, whereupon he being suddenly angered, 
prophesied incontinent that the blast of the Lord 
should blow her away like chaff. Thereafter walking 
on the cliff with some soldier-men, there came a great 
wind out of the heavens and blew her into the sea. 

Which shows what bushels of lying and falsehood 
may gather about a grain of truth at the bottom of a 
measure. 

But since the affair has been told with such seem- 
ing exactitude, and the printed papers spread abroad 
by flying stationers and packmen like many pearl-faced 
buttons and swatches of kerseymere, it becomes an 
historian to be particular also and to tell the tale as it 
happened, at once clearing the character of Mr. Peden 
and that of our true maid, Ivie, daughter of Sergeant- 
Major Grif Rysland of His Majesty’s dragoons. 

First we will show how the tale began to take its 
rise. Follows the truth step by step, as we have taken 
it down from the lips of those who had good cause to 


GEORGE JEX’S JUST PROVIDENCE 103 

know and from the records left behind by men and 
women who lived in that troubled time. 
***** * * 

“ And is it true that the poor ill-fortuned maid was 
blown from the top of Hughie’s cliff into the sea and 
so drowned Speak up, George Jex, since you claim 
to have seen." 

It was the young Englishman, Maurice Tyars, 
who spoke, and the place was the main guard of the 
Castle of the Bass. 

Old George Jex deliberately filled his pipe, stopping 
it down with the stubby end of his little finger all 
discoloured by thousands of similar operations. 

“ Wait a bit," he grumbled, “ pipe-lighting and gos- 
sip-mongering go not together. Lento gradu as my 
old comrade, the book-learned Captain Avery used to 
say when we fought together against Noll, at Dunbar." 

“ And a fine job you made of it, you and your gossip 
Avery ! " sneered the Englishman. 

Better than it turned out, if it had not been for 
such as them ! " retorted George Jex, jerking his thumb 
over his shoulder in the direction of the prisoners' 
cells ; “ the Preachers did for us worse than Noll’s 
troopers." 

“ I was ever an enemy to extremes," he said, contin- 
uing. “ Moderation is my word. Have ye heard of that 
book which was advertised to teach Politics and Reli- 
gion and all the conduct of life } No, ye would not — not 
being able to read more than the dying confession of 
Captain Hind, nor caring for better. But I tell you 
that this comprehensive treatise contained but three 
pages, and on each was printed the one word, 

‘ MODERATION.' 

“ Bah," cried Maurice Tyars, “ you and your Mode- 
ration. One would think we had all as much beer as 
we could drink here on the Bass. Is that beer } (He 


104 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


pointed to the bounding circle of the sea, now sulking 
under a cloud.) Why, man, we have hard work to 
make the cannikin clink with enough honest spring 
water and you, George Jex, must come prating to us of 
‘ Moderation.’ Go on with your story, lad, if you have 
aught to tell ! ” 

The other men were attentive and old George’s 
pipe was by this time well alight. He began his 
narration. 

“ It was, as you know, on Hughie’s craig. The 
lassie was there with her father and that long lobster- 
coated Whiggamore whose family we have shut up 
along there at the end of the row. You remember 
the day she came with the bottles of wine, and though 
the lads of grace got the claret — aye, and drank it too, 
their chief hands, old blind Ellison and Peden the 
Prophet, cursed her back and forth. You were there 
and heard, Maurice Tyars. Bear me witness.” 

‘*It is true,” said Tyars, slowly, ‘‘at least some of 
them did speak to governor’s daughter so as I would 
gladly have tickled them in the short-ribs with my 
hanger ! ” 

“ And ye heard the Prophet say that for her evil- 
doing there would come a wind from the Lord and 
sweep her into perdition, did ye not ? ” 

“That I did not rightly understand,” said Tyars. 
“ I mind noan o’ hearing owt about perdition. But the 
owd brid did indeed threat the maid with a wind from 
the Lord. That was why for it come in my mind that 
t ’would be no unseemly thing to lend him one on the 
chaffs. But she her own self bade me come quietly 
away.” 

“Aye,” broke in the narrator, feeling the length of 
the interruption, “ and her father kicked me, old George 
Jex, me that fought against Crommle before he was 
ever born or thought o’ — kicked George Jex up and 
down sentry-go walk like as he were no better than a 


GEORGE JEX’S JUST PROVIDENCE 105 

dog ! Then I knew and said — ye heard me, that no 
good would come of it.” 

“Aye,” ye swore — no man more blackguardly, 
George,” said Tyars, who had his own reasons for 
holding George in check, “ but swearing is the poorest 
kind of prophesying. Every man can do that on occa- 
sion. This garrison is hard at that sort of prophesy- 
ing, day and night, fast-day and feast-day, Sunday and 
Saturday, from Yule to Christmas, and the odd day 
in leap year into th’ bargain ! ” 

“ Well, at any rate,” said Old George, falling back 
on his entrenchments, “ the thing came to pass and I 
alone saw it. Sad it was to see a fine young lass that 
might have kept some soldier man’s house tidy and 
warmed his Hollands a-nights afore he went to bed, 
after he had done his musket-carrying and biding in a 
fortress like a weevil in musty bread — ah, pity it was 
to see as George Jex saw it ! ” 

“Ha done, owd mouldy,” cried Maurice Tyars, 
“ d’ ye think a fresh young beauty like Mistress Ivie 
would ever ha’ looked the way you were on, you forlorn, 
worm-gnawed, pock-pitted loomp o’ shingle-wrack, fit 
only for the Black Man’s bonfire ! ” 

“ Let George alone ! Let him tell his tale peace- 
ful,” said another, “ no good comes o’ hard words be- 
tween George an’ you — not even one good batt in the 
eye. Ye are but tongue-threshers, both o’ ye ! ” 

It was some time, however, before George Jex could 
be coaxed into recommencing. But the others repre- 
sented, truly enough, that they had no art or part in 
the Englishman’s evil tongue and that anyway he but 
spoke after his kind, and that no better could be ex- 
pected of him. At last Old George showed himself 
mollified. 

“ It came like this,” he said, “ there was the lass and 
her father the governor — that nice sweet-tempered, 
good-natured man with his fist clenched all ready 


io6 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

to knock ye down if ye but ask him a civil ques- 
tion — ” 

“ Let the governor alone,” cried half-a-dozen in 
chorus, he is out there with the boats searching every 
nook and cranny for his daughter’s body. ’Tis not 
the time to speak so.” 

“ It was a thundery day,” George went on, “ you 
yourselves saw it, those of you that were born with 
eyes in your head. Big white mountains of cloud, 
white as wool at top and with long black wisps trailing 
down over the sea like a woman’s hair when she lets 
it fall—” 

“ George — ” interrupted the Englishman, with his 
hands to his face. 

‘^Go on,” shouted the others, ‘‘hold your whisht, 
pock-pudding ! ” 

“And these were the seven winds, all blowing dif- 
ferent ways that come up with the thunder,” George 
Jex went on, pulling at his pipe, pleased at his way of 
relation. “ The red-coat ploughman was showing off 
his figure on the rocks all among the eggs and young 
solans, very daring. Mistress Ivie was running here 
and there to thrust her fingers into the fluff of the 
young half-grown birds, caressing them as if they had 
been so many kittens. ‘ Oh, what delights ! — The 
loves ! ’ — and so forth, with little cries and squeaks 
such as women use” — 

“You lie, George,” interposed the Englishman, 
pluming his moustache, “ she had a voice like an angel. 
She could no more squeak than you could sing ! ” 

Of this George decided to take no notice. He was 
now in the middle passage of his tale and the atten- 
tion of his audience was absolute. 

“Her father stood back, looking on from afar and 
doing naught as is his way. She was, they say, the 
apple of his eye, and they do affirm he hath spitted 
more than one man for her sake — great men too. (That 


GEORGE JEX’S JUST PROVIDENCE 107 

is, mayhap, why we are blessed with him here.) So 
they stood, the three of them all on the edge of 
Hughie’s rock when the gloaming was falling. 

“ Then all at once, as I was thinking of going home 
to supper (only that Sir Black-Brows, our honoured 
Governor, had bidden me remain where I was) I saw a 
black drift of cloud come swiftly over the top of the 
Bass. It was not combed out thin like the others 
but pointed like a distaff and it span. A wind chill 
and damp drove before it. I saw it stoop down upon 
Hughie’s rock as if of a purpose. There came a flash 
and a great brange of thunder. Then when I looked 
again the maid was not there. But the dragooner, 
after running here and there for a moment, suddenly 
heaved his joined hands aloft and sprang into the 
blackness beneath where the sea was.” 

George — George, you saw’ that they cried, “ you 
are a great man, George. Why, you tell it like a 
printed book ! ” 

“ Aye,” said George, modestly, “ it is a gift — noth- 
ing more — many have remarked the likewise before.” 

‘‘ And what did the governor do ” asked the Eng- 
lishman, did he also go overboard after his daugh- 
ter .? ” 

“ Not he,” said George Jex, “ catch him. He knew 
better. But he did what had far more sense to it. 
He ran down to the boat that lies above the landing- 
place on the wooden rollers. And on his way he cried 
to me to send him the fisherman and every man who 
could handle an oar — Scaly Harry, the Sand-eel, 
Whiffling Thomas — you know the crew ! ” 

So off they set, but indeed there was little chance. 
The night had fallen by the time they got the boat 
fairly out. Happily the sea was calm enough in spite of 
the great wind-gust that had passed. They rowed 
away, and all the light they had as Whiffling Tom told 
me was one poor lantern, and now and then the flash- 


io8 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

ing of the lightning that went and came away behind 
the Isle of May.” 

“ After an hour they came on Lobster-back aground 
on a spit of rock, his legs and flanks all awash in 
the salt water, and sore battered with the waves — 
so they say. But of the maid herself, pretty Mistress 
I vie, neither hilt nor hair was to be seen ! ” 

Tyars heaved a long sigh. 

She had an eye for a well-made man,” he medi- 
tated, ’tis a pity that it was not that red lobster 
ploughman if someone had to be drowned to fulfill 
prophecy ! ” 

‘‘Eh,” said George Jex contemptuously, “and then 
you, Maurice Tyars, would have liked well to take 
over his water-carrying job up at the governor’s house. 
Well, prophet or no prophet, it was a plain judgment, 
say I.” 

“ Oh, George,” said another, weak towards beauty, 
“ you never do believe that that old prophet had aught 
to do wi’ it. If I thought even so — ” And he brought 
his musket to the make-fire in order to show what his 
intentions were towards Mr. Peden. 

“ Nay,” said old George, “ not what Peden said nor 
any of his sort. I believe nothing in that. But for 
all, it was a manifest judgment because of her father 
propelling a man old enough to be his father twice the 
length of the terrace-walk at the point of his riding- 
boot. There is a just Providence, I hold to it, though I 
don’t pray all day like the canters we keep within there. 

“ Your Providence must be a just Providence,” 
sneered the Englishman, “ to blow a poor innocent girl 
into the sea and leave the man that booted ye stand- 
ing safe and sound within a dozen yards ! ” 

To which most improper criticism of his theory of 
fate, George Jex could for the moment find no retort 
handy. Nor indeed did he after find it by any amount 
of reflection. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE COT IN CANTIE BAY 

It was true. I vie Rysland had been snatched away 
by a sudden gust of wind from one of the rock-faces 
of the Bass. Raith Ellison had plunged in after her, 
and he alone, exhausted and quite incapable of speech, 
had been recovered. He now lay in the governor’s 
house with a soldier to attend to him, while Grif with 
several boats and all the fishers and rock-climbers on 
the Isle continued the search. But it was already the 
third day. All hope had long been dead. Yet Grif 
Rysland thought that if only he could recover Ivie’s 
bcidy, it would be a certain consolation to him. 

Even the prisoners knew, and in the cells there was 
much talk of the new marvellous prophetic utter- 
ance of Mr. Peden. What the guard thought of it 
we know already. Raith lay stunned and battered, 
still three parts unconscious, and Grif Rysland him- 
self had not had his clothes off for well-nigh ninety 
hours. 

But Ivie Rysland was not dead, and in spite of all 
that has been written, Mr. Peden neither foretold her 
death nor ever wished her any ill. The words he 
spoke to her were hardly less than a prayer, and who 
shall say that the old man’s “ Amen ” might not have 
been the echoed rejoicing of the angels over a lost 
sheep at last well upon the Way .? 

Certain it is that at the time of the evening prayer, 
when all who could be spared from the guard were 
looking for the body of Ivie Rysland, Mr. Peden gave 


no 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


out and led the psalmody himself, a thing which he 
had never been known to do since his coming to the 
Bass. 

And those who heard him say that the fervour he 
put into the concluding verse made all tremble in 
their bones. These were the lines : 

“ Even as a bird 

Out of the fowler’s snare 
Escapes away 

So is my soul set free. 

Broke are their nets 

And thus escaped we. 

Therefore our help 

Is in the Lord’s great name 
Who heaven and earth 

By his great power did frame.” 

And then the Prophet prayed. And though, as ever, 
his manner was mystic, and his words strange even to 
the most enlightened there (the farthest ben ” as the 
phrase went) there was in all he said clearly to be felt 
no condemnation, but rather a great pity and faintly 
emergent, even a certain triumph. 

Her raiment is stained indeed, as it were from the 
tomb,” he said, his face turned upwards, blood is on 
her garments. Nevertheless she shall no longer be 
called * Desolate,’ the daughter of the stranger, but 
her name shall be called Hephzi-bah and her land Beu- 
lah. For the delight of the most High is in her, and 
though she lose a father according to the flesh, lo, is it 
not written that the children of the desolate are more 
than the children of the married wife, saith the 
Lord > ” 

And after he had ended, none dared to speak or ask 
him any questions, not even blind William Ellison — so 
great a gale there seemed upon his spirit, and a light 
as of another world radiant on his face. 

Meanwhile within little more than a couple of i^iles 
of the Bass, in a small house, a mere fisher’s cottage. 


THE COT IN CANTIE BAY 


III 


hidden round the point of Cantie Bay, the heights of 
Tantallon frowning above, sat I vie in person, warm, 
dry, and comfortable, in face of two women to whom by 
snatches she told her tale. 

No,” she said, in reply to a suggestion of the elder, 
“ I will not send them word. There is much at stake. 
My father has seen good days and ill. His heart is 
staunch. He will only set his lips a little tighter and 
it will go harder with the slug-a-beds of his command. 
But he will face the trouble as he would lead his com- 
pany into battle. I fear not for him. For the rest, 
I am delivered, and that suddenly, by a Hand Un- 
seen.” 

By the hand of God,” corrected Euphrain Ellison, 
for it was she. As was natural, the daughter of the 
covenants spoke a little severely. To her I vie was 
still more than suspect — the Strange Woman who had 
led away her brother. But Marjory Simpson, once 
more at home in her own Eastland, stilled her daugh- 
ter with a look. 

“ Bide ye,” she said, “ He worketh indeed by the 
storm and all things are his servants. Listen ! So 
ye may learn humility ! ” 

It happened thus,” said Ivie, trying to think 
clearly. “ I stooped to touch a bird, a little woolly 
fledgling that reared back its yellow beak at me, open- 
ing it wide so foolishly that I could not help but laugh. 
The next instant something black and roaring struck 
me, and I found myself twirling in the air like a with- 
ered leaf. Then came the water, a terrible noise and 
shining of lightning, and as it seemed — death ! But 
when I came to myself I was not dead. I was in a 
boat and a man was giving me something that burnt 
my lips.” 

“We know,” said Marjory Simpson, “ it was Peter 
Baton’s nephew, Long-bodied John, who found you. 
He goes every night at dusk to the seaside of the Isle. 


II2 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


He has some traffic with the fisher folk, his kin among 
the soldiers, landing odds and ends that the governor 
is not supposed to know about, and carrying away the 
letters written by the prisoners.” 

“ Hush, mother,” said Euphrain, “ you forget that 
you are speaking to the governor’s daughter.” 

“ I forget nought,” said her mother, “ I ken well to 
whom I open my lips.” 

Ivie nodded gratefully. Mistress Ellison laid her 
hand on the girl’s. 

“ We heard that same night,” she said, bending 
softly towards her, ‘‘ how you had taken both wine 
and victual to the prisoners out of the kindness of 
your own heart. I thank you — aye, more than my ain 
man thank I you. For being of the east country I 
see differently. There is one God, it is true. But we 
look at Him with other spy-glasses here in the east. 
Smoked they may be, but yet with them we may the 
better see His brightness unveiled. You have been 
kind also to Raith. And I ken that, whatever was in 
his heart of a young man (and when I see you. Mis- 
tress Ivie, I blame him not) you had nothing to do 
with engaging him in the troop of Cornet Grahame. 
For those who were in the Quarry-hole of KerslandHill 
where your father slew the wicked Laird of Houston, 
sending him to his own place, have spoken as to that 
loud and often.” 

With a softness which was little characteristic of 
her, the good wife of Mayfield bent over and kissed 
Ivie. The girl impulsively threw her arms about her 
neck. 

Oh,” she cried, “ teach me. I want to learn. Per- 
haps I was thrown into the sea for that — perhaps they 
think me lost for that ! I will not go back yonder — 
do not send me back. I hate the place. Bid these 
fisher-folk hold their tongues and they will be re- 
warded.” 


THE COT IN CANTIE BAY 


113 

Mistress Ellison laughed a little easy laugh, a cheery 
helpful laugh which somehow all of itself lightened 
the girl’s heart. 

“ There is no fear, little mistress,” she said. Long- 
bodied John and his uncle Prayerful Peter carry the 
letters every morning, as ye have seen doubtless, to 
the landing-place of the Bass. They do a profitable 
traffic in stores for the garrison. But neither of them 
is likely to proclaim that he was lurking with his boat 
under the north cliff at the hour of dusk waiting for 
a string to be let down by one of his fisher friends who 
had enlisted in the garrison for that purpose. For 
that there would be hempen cravats going, and for all 
his praying, Peter is not anxious to go to heaven that 
way ! ” 

Ivie drew her breath more easily. 

“ Then I may bide here — and with you,” she went 
on. I have money — money of my own. I carry it 
with me. See ! There was little chance of spending 
it out yonder on the Bass.” 

She pointed over to where the hay-stack apex of the 
prison-rock heaved itself above the nearer curve of the 
bay. 

Euphrain, however, still held herself plainly aloof. 
She had something of her father’s unbending ways, 
and could not understand her mother’s ready accept- 
ance of this daughter of the Philistines, To her it 
seemed like one of those deadly compliances of the 
people of Israel so often condemned in the Scriptures. 
She would scarcely have thrust Ivie through with a 
dart, but — there was a medium between that and 
taking her into one’s arms as her mother had done. 
Ivie, quick to notice likes and dislikes, instinctively 
attached herself to the elder woman. But with some- 
thing of her old carelessness she set Euphrain down as 
simply a little jealous. Herein, however, she was 
wrong. At least it was jealousy of no personal kind. 

8 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


114 

Euphrain was jealous for the ark of the Covenant, and 
secretly resolved that only the elect should stand upon 
the bulwarks of Zion. 

“We came here, Euphrain and I,” began Mistress 
Ellison, as if feeling the necessity of responding to 
Ivie’s confidences by making some of her own, “ after 
Lag’s folk had made a bonfire of the gear and plenish- 
ing of our bien house of Mayfield. But for years 
William and I had been expecting this, and he, as he 
often said, had his anchor within the veil. The whilk 
is this day a comfort to his soul. And for me, I had 
an anchor also, and I trust there was not the less faith 
in my heart that it was an anchor weighted with snug 
golden Charleses all in the safe hands of my brother 
Daniel, farmer in the Barnton Mains back there a 
mile or two over the heuchs. So as I say, we came 
down here, Euphrain and I. But we did not bide with 
Dan’l my brother, an honest man and a willing, though 
a kenning worldly. For not only did we not choose 
to draw attention and mayhap fines upon him, but if 
we could do anything to relieve or release the prison- 
ers, it would be easier come at by remaining unknown 
and unspied upon, down here in this cove where none 
but small fisher-craft ever come, and where not a red 
soldier has shown his nose within the memory of man.” 

“ Relieve or release the prisoners !” thought I vie, 
alarmed by a sense of treachery to her father. But, 
in a moment she remembered that after all Grif Rys- 
land was quite able to attend to his own business. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


IVIE CASTS THE GOLD FROM HER HAIR 

The house, the curious out-buildings and lean-tos 
occupied by Prayerful Peter Paton, lay in a little cove 
in the shelter of the great ruins of Tantallon, but 
cowering so closely under it that they were hidden 
from the observation even of the castle plateau. 
Neither could any part of them be seen with a spy- 
glass from the Bass, save indeed had any one mounted 
to the extreme pinnacle of the rock. But that no one 
took the trouble to do. Moreover no ships of any 
kind were allowed to take the inner passage (between 
the castle and the mainland) under pain of being sunk 
by the cannons of the fortress. Still more particularly. 
Prayerful Peter and his nephew Long-bodied John, 
with their kinsfolk on and off the rock, monopolised 
the supply of official provisions, in addition to which 
they kept up communications with the prisoners. For 
all which reasons no safer refuge could have been 
found upon the shores of the three kingdoms. 

Thus Prayerful Peter and his nephew made the best 
of both worlds. None could equal Peter at “ scaling 
the throne of grace,” when he took the Book in his 
own kitchen or even at a house-conventicle when he 
believed himself wholly among his own folk, and lib- 
erty of prophecy was given to him. 

And a better hand at a bargain, when it was a 
question of beef and beer for the garrison, could not 
be found nearer than the Canongate of Edinburgh. 
Governor Grif owned this much himself. 


Ii6 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

It was with infinite relief, therefore, that Peter Paton 
heard Ivie herself lay the embargo of silence upon 
him. He had spent a sleepless night thinking vainly 
how he was to explain his presence so close under 
Hughie’s cliff at that forbidden hour of the evening. 
For Peter’s converse with the Isle was strictly con- 
fined to the one hour when he could approach and 
the same period of time during which by oar or sail 
he must return to the mainland. His majesty’s prison 
of the Bass was shut to the world at all other times, 
and Prayerful Peter saw ruin stare him in the face, 
should his little evening employment be declared to 
the governor or even revealed to the soldiers of the 
garrison — some of whom, like George Jex, loved him 
not. He saw an end of all, and himself Prayerful 
Peter, laid by the heels in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, 
to die of gaol fever, which, it was reported, prevailed 
extraordinarily there that year. 

After Ivie had spoken, and paid over a private gold 
piece or two into his palm all was now well, and 
Prayerful Peter Paton, a tall, loose-jointed man, framed 
as it were from oddments of different people strung 
upon wires, took across the mail which the courier 
had brought from Edinburgh and joined in the lam- 
entations which he heard on all sides as to the sad 
fate of the governor’s daughter with the most con- 
vincing countenance in the world. 

His nephew Long-bodied John was quite different. 
He too was tall, and not particularly well made. He 
had a very long head shaped like a giant egg with the 
small end uppermost. Sandy coloured hair lay in an 
almost invisible thatch upon this, mixed with a curious 
mustardy yellow which seemed ashamed of itself, and 
tried to hide out of sight. There was a bristle along 
his upper lip like the down on the solan of a week old, 
and on his chin (as it were) the promise of spring. 
But his body was both long and thick, his arms thin 


I VIE CASTS GOLD FROM HER HAIR ii; 

like those of a crab with immense hands — deadly- 
looking murderer’s hands, — the signification of which 
was belied by the wide simple smile on his apple- 
pudding face and the willowy spindle legs which, 
anywhere out of a boat, were always tying themselves 
in a tangle. But then, generally speaking, Long-bodied 
John lived in a boat. So that his legs did not matter 
so much as might be supposed. 

A vague kinswoman, apparently equally related to 
both men, did very ineffectively the cooking, and slept 
casually beneath the back-kitchen table in true fisher- 
folk fashion. It was not long, however, that Euphrain 
and her jnother supplanted her in most of her func- 
tions and introduced a new rule of cleanliness, some- 
thing approaching that which had reigned at Mayfield. 
Whereupon the vague kinswoman, indignant, promptly 
quitted the cottage, apparently unregretted and even 
unnoticed by him of the Long Body and his uncle 
Peter. It was afterwards discovered, however, that 
they succoured her for the time being in an old fish- 
ing boat, feeding her through the scuttle and bedding 
her down upon hay in the hold. Occasionally an 
extra-high tide moved her out, but she took her bed- 
ding with her and returned peacefully as soon as the 
water retreated. For the present Peter and John his 
nephew had no need of her. The cottage was, as 
Peter pathetically said, “ just crawling wi’ weemen,” 
and Leeb was in the way. But no one knew what 
might happen, so they kept her against emergencies 
in the old fishing-boat. Why should she complain ? 
A fisher wife could aye fend for herself. The which 
Leeb Paton did, entirely contented and far happier 
than in the cottage with its provoking tidiness, all the 
beds made, and every dish washed by nine of the 
morning. Leeb preferred the old boat, “ Tantallon’s 
Mary,” to that, even if the tide turned her out every 
twelve hours. 


0 


ii8 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

And a wondrous change was wrought in Prayerful 
Peter’s house at Cantie Bay by the three remaining 
women. Ivie’s bright willingness began to win a little 
even on Euphrain. 

She works as if she were used to it,” she confided 
to her mother. “ I thocht bonny folk like that never 
put their hand to ony thing but their hair.” 

‘‘Ye think her bonny then, Euphrain,” asked her 
mother, with a shrewd look at her daughter, “ in that 
auld gown o’ yours that ye hae worn till it is thread- 
bare ? What for did ye not gie the puir thing your 
best Sabbath black ? ” 

Right well Marjory Simpson, that wise woman, knew 
the reason. But she had her own ways of teaching 
and leading. 

“ What for no, mither,” said Euphrain, indignantly, 
“ think ye that I didna offer it ? Aye, fleeched and 
pled, fair prigging on her to wear it, as if it had been a 
favour to me. But she would not. The old she would 
have, and a grey shawl and a blue band for her hair. 
If she had wanted to be as like me as she could, she 
would not have chosen different.” 

“ Maybe that is what she did want } ” suggested her 
mother. Euphrain shook her head suspiciously. 

“Ye never can tell,” she said, “there maybe some- 
thing ahint ! ” 

For a moment Marjory Simpson looked as if she 
could have shaken her daughter. But she contented 
herself with saying, “Aye, Euphrain, ye are an Ellison 
— root and branch, head and tail, body and soul. But 
hear ye this, the clear spring water does not rin only 
that the Ellisons may drink it. Nor the sun shine 
only that he may licht the Ellisons to their day’s darg. 
No, nor God bide in his heaven that he may bless 
only the righteous Ellisons ! ” 

“Mither,” said Euphrain, in an awed, almost terri- 
fied tone, “ hae ye forgotten — there are Gil and Beattie 


IVIE CASTS GOLD FROM HER HAIR 119 

and our father over yonder — and (she shuddered as 
she spoke) puir Murdoch buried under the ash-tree by 
the dykeside in Mayfield ? ” 

“ I have not forgotten," said Marjory Simpson. “ It 
is good to suffer for the faith. It pays itself, even 
to the death. Have not I too my suffering } They 
lay in my bosom. They moved in my side. If all 
were dead, if all were cut off one after the other — all 
my own, still the Lord who gave and who took, put 
within me also a soul that can divide right from wrong. 
I, Marjory Simpson, wife of William Ellison, prisoner 
on the Bass, mother of Murdoch whom Lag slew, see 
the soul of this young maid struggling and distressed. 
She seeks the light — perhaps not your Light or mine, 
but a Light ! Perhaps not our way, but a Way. 
Shall I trip up her feet and send her headlong .? No, 
not though none were left alive to me nearer than the 
City of the Twelve Foundations. Do you your duty, 
daughter Euphrain, but leave me to do mine ! " 

Euphrain had never seen her mother so moved — 
hardly even when they brought in Murdoch to make 
ready for the burying. But now, what strange thing 
was this ? Had the Midianitish Woman cast the gla- 
mour also over her ? Euphrain went to her own room 
to pray. Yet that which she had offered in the mat- 
ter of the Sabbath robe and mantle, and Ivie’s refusal 
of them, had not been without their influence. 

Ivie had wandered a little way from the house. 
The curious congerie of tarred huts, thatched and 
canvassed lean-tos, drying poles for fishing nets, drawn- 
up boats and rusty anchors lay beneath her. In a 
sheltered corner of the green cliff there were flowers, 
violets and daisies in abundance — further on in cool 
shadow a few belated primroses, cowering away from 
the east wind. 

Without thinking, her mind being far away, Ivie 
plucked some of these and put them in her hair, where 


120 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


their pale gold colour showed against the dense brown- 
ish black of her coils. She hummed a refrain and 
then checked herself. But seeing Mistress Ellison 
standing at the door of the cottage, she hastily pulled 
the flowers from her hair and trampled them under her 
feet. They seemed like a part of her old life. For a 
moment she hated them and then, Ivie-like, she was 
sorry. She picked them up again, and placed them 
carefully in a wet spot where a little burnie seeped its 
way down unseen to the sea, its path marked only by 
a streak of bright green verdure on the short grey 
fell of the eastward cliffs. 

Euphrain, watching from her window, saw every- 
thing, and her heart hardened. 

“ She is play-acting to take in my mother ! ” she 
commented, and betook herself to the reading of the 
chapter which enshrines the story of the Prodigal 
Son. 

I vie came down slowly, looking wistfully over the 
sea behind the Bass which rose blue-grey against a 
white sky. There was a wistfulness in her eyes. 
Though her soul had waked and was bent upon the 
conquest of higher things, there was that in little Ivie 
which kept her very human, and her heart was apt to 
faint within her though it failed not. 

Raith’s mother waited her at the door. Ivie col- 
oured as she drew near, a tinge that was neither the 
sun nor the fatigue of the descent. She knew that 
her hour was come. It was a difficult task she had 
before her. How would she acquit herself ? She was 
going to break with the old life but she could not yet 
a while put on the garment of the new. She must 
carefully abstain from betraying her father. He had 
stood between her and harm, in so far as he knew. 
But he had made her scarce a woman among other 
women. She did not know them. She was going to 
put herself at the mercy of this woman, Raith’s mother, 


IVIE CASTS GOLD FROM HER HAIR 121 


who might hate her for the evil which folk said she 
had done her son. 

But no ! There was a certain pre-arranged harmony 
of spirit, a kindly gleam in those cool, deep, slightly 
humorous grey eyes — something to trust and hold to 
as surely as if Marjory Simpson had been her own 
mother. 

The two women met on the doorstep, now clean and 
shining as a polished oaken table, of Prayerful Peter’s 
once foul hovel. 

I have something to say to you,” began Ivie, her 
heart in her throat. 

“ I ken,” said Marjory Simpson, reaching out a hand, 
‘‘ come your ways ben, my bairn ! I have been wait- 
ing for ye ! ” 


CHAPTER XIX 


DRUM-TAPS AND THE PRIDE OF LIFE 

** We will do well here,” said Marjory Simpson, as 
she seated herself with her accustomed knitting in the 
great brown chair which had supported the wearied 
forms of many generations of seafaring Patons. 

No common woman was William Ellison’s wife. 
She was not comely with the soft rose-and-milk south- 
erly comeliness. Ayrshire curds had never blanched 
her cheek. On the other hand, her hair was now sil- 
ver grey of an equal tinge throughout. There was a 
firmness of outline about her features, a sweet decision 
in the set of her mouth, perhaps even a snap of tem- 
per in her black eyes, now shining with amusement, 
now tender with pity. And little Ivie felt that if she 
did not speak to her, she would never be able to tell 
her trouble to woman born of woman. 

Marjory Simpson was in no hurry. She talked of 
many things easily, till it should be Ivie’s time — of the 
coming and going of the morning boat to the Bass, of 
the prospects of the crops as reported by her farmer 
brother, of Long-bodied John’s last catch, and the best 
way to cook sea-trout. All this simply and with easy 
detachment, to let Ivie gather courage. 

There was at last a little silence, designed on the 
part of Marjory Simpson. Ivie’s eyes were on the 
yellow glister of the elder woman’s bone knitting 
needles. Her own hands clasped and unclasped them- 
selves nervously on the lap of the worn grey dress she 
had borrowed from Euphrain, 


DRUM-TAPS AND THE PRIDE OF LIFE 123 

“ I — have no mother/’ she said at length, her voice 
tremulous, ** and to whom can I speak but to his ! ” 

At the last word something stung sharp and sudden 
in Marjory Simpson’s heart. She had not expected 
this. She had exculpated the girl, almost from the 
first. But she commanded herself and nodded en- 
couragement. 

“ You love him ? ” she said, very low, her eyes on 
her knitting. 

‘‘From the first,” Ivie answered also under her 
breath, “ but he does not know. I have been hard 
to him. I am not fit for him. He is not fit for 
what I mean to be. I have told — I can tell no one 
but you. ” 

Marjory Simpson ceased her work and looked Ivie 
fair in the face. The girl’s dark eyes bore the look. 
In her heart there was no flinching. “ Yes,” thought 
Raith’s mother, “ she is telling me the truth.” 

She smiled — a smile of understanding and that 
rare sympathy which only comes into the countenances 
of those who in their day have kicked against the 
pricks. 

“ Go on ! ” she said. 

It was easier for Ivie after that. She proceeded, 
reassured. 

“ I think I know why Raith Ellison went away,” 
she said, gently, “ may I speak of that 

“It would be strange if the only two in the world 
who love him should not speak of him,” said his 
mother, “ tell out your heart, bairn. Be not afraid.” 

“Well,” said Ivie, “this is it. He and I have 
been living in a dream, from which I have awakened 
the first. Now we must awake Raith. We must 
win him ! ” 

“Is he not already won } ” said his mother, smiling 
at her clicking needles but without raising her eyes. 

Ivie shook her head sadly and sagely. 


124 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ No,” she answered, firmly this time, “ not yet ! It 
is a disease of the young — I have seen it often. I have 
lived among it. Once too it was meat and drink to me ! ” 

** What } ” said his mother, looking up, perplexed for 
the first time. 

“Drum-taps,” — I vie answered, “the clarion that 
makes the blood bound, red coats, golden braid, the 
tramp of horses, marchings out in the cool morning, 
silken banners fluttering on the flank, the spell of a 
thousand men, a thousand horses moving as one, the 
gay life of men among men, the pride and the glory 
of life — that is what came upon Raith.” 

“ Yes — I understand,” said Marjory Simpson, slowly, 
“ desirable young men, all of them princes to look upon, 
girded with vermilion, clothed all in blue, captains and 
rulers of the land — so has it been since the world 
began. These things have gotten into Raith’ s head 
and into his blood. I have long known it. But (here 
she smiled at Ivie) was it for these that he followed 
your father out yonder to the Bass, hewed wood and 
drew water, and last of all cast himself headlong from 
Hughie’s cliff .? ” 

Red and white went Ivie. She had been carried 
away by her own words. But Marjory Simpson’s 
clear eyes thought no worse of the girl for having for- 
gotten herself on behalf of her son. 

“ No,” she faltered, “but there was also my father’s 
advice which he gave Raith Ellison. For according 
to his lights my father, Grif Rysland, is a just man and 
nowise cruel. He saw the misfortunes that were com- 
ing upon Galloway by means of Lag and the favour 
he had at court and among the big bonnets of the 
Privy Council. So he took Raith with him to the 
Bass, that he might be out of the way of the evil.” 

“And that was all.?” inquired Marjory Simpson, 
quietly. 

“ No,” said Ivie, with Raith’s own determined faith- 


DRUM-TAPS AND THE PRIDE OF LIFE 125 

fulness, “ it was not all. He came for me also. But — 
then, when he came, I, too, seemed to him part of the 
pride of life. And I do not deny that, having never 
known any good woman all my life, I was foolish. 
Yes,” she repeated, *‘he thought of me as part of the 
pride of life he was yearning for — which was drawing 
him away from his own ! ” 

“ Say rather, my daughter, the desire of the eye,” 
Marjory Simpson bent over and patted the girl’s cheek, 
*‘and indeed I blame him little. Had I been a 
man — ” 

And as she knitted she laughed — a singularly un- 
covenanting laugh. 

“ Oh, you are good — good,” Ivie cried out, “but oh, 
I fear you will not understand. I would so have loved 
a mother, if I had had one. But I have only met and 
known men. Good women do not come into camps 
and leaguers, and my father would have ordered any 
others who dared to speak with me before the provost 
marshal. His sword indeed fenced me about safely 
enough, and still more the fear of it. But the very 
safety made me foolish, light, over-daring. There were 
so many men, who changed and changed, coming and 
going like the waves of the sea. They told me foolish 
things also, at which I only laughed. They and their 
compliments were nothing to me. I was accustomed 
to them and the like of them ever since Grif Rysland 
used to ride me before him into the camp on his 
charger’s saddle bow away down in the Rhine 
Province.” 

“ Then on a day I met a lad, tall, fair, and as to his 
eyes, blue and clear with wonder. And at him I 
laughed also. But because he was so simple and — so 
different, I desired to laugh at him again. I had never 
before wished to look twice on any man, except my 
father. But this lad I wished to see. I waited for 
him by the wood. I knew that he must come that 


126 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


way. And indeed he came every day on the chance 
of seeing me, though I kept close in the green wood.” 

‘‘He was my son Raith ^ ” Marjory Simpson en- 
quired yet more softly. The sting of the mother sup- 
planted, was not wholly absent from her voice. But it 
did not remain long. 

“ Raith Ellison — yes,” said Ivie, “and from a hoop of 
broom blossom which upon the last day I threw by 
chance into the road at his feet, many things happened. 
He has never told me all. I have never asked him, but 
I know that somehow he was made an outcast from his 
home, and that, in a fit of despair and the hope of mili- 
tary glory, he joined my father’s company, and after- 
wards followed him to the Bass yonder.” 

There was silence for a little between the two 
women. Then it was Marjory Simpson who spoke. 

“ And what was it which turned your heart against 
that way of life } Tell me frankly — or how shall I be 
able to help you } ” 

“ Indeed I can hardly put it all in words — I think 
first a disgust of man and men, and always men. To 
hear the same words uttered by this one and that 
other — all of love and devotion and service, of favours 
and gifts and sugared compliments. Of such I had 
long been sick. Then I heard the prisoners sing on 
the Bass. I considered their faithfulness — the glad- 
ness with which they endured hardness. Then one of 
them spoke to me — spoke pityingly and kindly. It 
was no more than a word or two, but then my heart 
only needed a word.” 

“ And who might it be — that prisoner ? ” Mistress 
Ellison asked, with some faint hope that it might prove 
to be her husband. 

“It was Mr. Peden, whom they call the Prophet,” 
said Ivie, quickly. “ And then all at once it came to 
me how much I was shut out from — having none to 
tell me of these things. I stood at the window of my 


DRUM-TAPS AND THE PRIDE OF LIFE 127 

chamber all the night and looked out at the stars and 
the sea. If there was a God abroad in the dark, surely 
He was so far away that I could not find Him. I 
needed God. Still more I needed a woman like my- 
self, a mother. I knew neither God nor woman. So — 
so — ” 

Here her voice gave a very little quiver. She slid 
from her low seat upon her knees and laid her head on 
Marjory Simpson’s lap. “Tell me,” she murmured. 
“ I will believe — I am ready to believe whatever you 
say.” 

Marjory Simpson was after all a woman of her time, 
though not wedded to the fierce extremes of her hus- 
band. But she felt the more the difficulty of the 
appeal. 

“ There is the Bible,” she said, a little faintly, “ that, 
you know, guides to all truth ! ” 

“ I have never seen one,” said I vie, “ that is, except 
in a court in which my father once took an oath.” 

“ Poor, poor Ivie ! ” said the elder woman, her hand 
upon the girl’s head. Such ignorance appeared mon- 
strous and incredible to her. Yet no one could look at 
Ivie Rysland’s face and disbelieve. 

“ Did never your father teach you anything, or have 
some suitable person instruct you — any chaplain or 
curate even ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Ivie, eagerly, for she wished to do 
Grif justice, “ I can read and sing, and play on the 
lute. I can fence, and shoot a pistol with anyone in 
the troop. Also he had me taught to broider by the 
Sisters of a nunnery in Worms — ” 

“ But religion — God ? ” Marjory Simpson’s voice 
sank to a hoarse whisper. 

“ I never heard either named save with an oath ! ” 

Marjory Simpson gave a little gasp. It was terri- 
ble, incredible. Yet here was a virgin page on which 
she must write. 


128 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


You will tell me all — all ? ” pleaded the girl. The 
elder woman nodded. 

“ Little by little,” she said, ** for today let it be 
enough for you that there is one woman in the world 
to whom you are as her own daughter, and for the rest” 
(here she reached for her little red-bound Bible in one 
volume, printed in Edinburgh by the Printers to the 
King’s Most Excellent Majesty, 1633) — she turned the 
leaves and found a place — ‘‘Take but this one word 
with you, my bairn. Ye have not far to seek. There 
is no need to look out of your window at the stars. 
The blasts of wind may have been His ministers, to 
bring you hither, but God is not in the wind. Read 
the word. 

And Ivie stooped and read from the small clear type 
these words, Neither shall they say, Lo here, or lo 
there ! For the Kingdom of God is within yon ! ” 

“ But how am I to know it is for me pleaded Ivie 
dolorously, looking up into the firm strong face. 

Marjory Simpson took the girl in her arms “ By 
this,” she said, “ that your heart has brought you to 
me, and that your best desire is to bide with me. Go 
your ways, bairn. Be comforted. God is within you. 
I would we could all say as much.” 

Still, however, Ivie lingered. 

“ There is one thing more,” she murmured, uncer- 
tainly, “you are not angry with Raith t ” 

His mother smiled through the welling moisture in 
her eyes. She signified “ no ” with a little shake of 
the head. 

“Then,” said Ivie, “would it do any harm if we 
kneeled down and prayed that He would give him back 
to the two women who love him } ” 

So these two prayed together, and on his Isle, Raith 
sat with his chin on his hands looking out over Hughie’s 
fatal craig and feeling that for him the world was ended 
indeed. 


CHAPTER XX 


PRAYERFUL PETER AND LONG-BODIED JOHN 

Prayerful Peter Paton and his nephew Long- 
bodied John sat up among the heuchs in the mouth of 
a little cave hidden under the ancient Castle of Tan- 
tallon — a cave which, though not large, was singularly 
useful to the pair. All about lay dried tobacco, coils 
of rope new and strong, some with large knots at inter- 
vals, some made up into ladders, lighter ropes with 
grappling clutches of three-pronged steel, guns, pistols, 
and other unlawful engines. In a comer by itself was 
a Bible, well-thumbed from cover to cover. For Pray- 
erful Peter only disobeyed the laws of the land that a 
greater good might come, first to his own pocket and 
secondly to the Good Cause, the first having perhaps 
more weight with him. 

Both men lounged sailor-fashion on weighty pack- 
ages of some fabric closely enough packed to fit easily 
to their figures and make a sufficiently comfortable 
couch. 

“Certes,” said Peter to Long-bodied John, “ but it’s 
a queerie thing what landward women-folk will set 
themsel’s to do. The kitchen doon yonder is for a’ 
the world like a scoured pot ! Never a place where a 
man can kick aff his sea-boots, or gut a dozen fish ! 
And a’ because, my fegs, a thing maun be clean ! 
Clean — what signifies clean ? If it werena that it was 
for the Lord’s cause, an’ we had this bit cave up here 
to lie amang the tobacco and Hollands, the fish and 
the French lace, and if I werena weel payed for it in 
9 


130 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


guid yellow gowd, I declare I wadna hae the besoms o* 
destruction in my house for a day ! But we maun 
aye follow the leadings o’ Providence, ye ken ! ” 

“ Humph,” said Long-bodied John, with some surli- 
ness, “ I see nocht the maitter wi’ the lass that fell 
ower Hughie’s craig ! ” 

His uncle stared at him in wonder. 

Maybe,” he said at last, ‘‘maybe sae. Aye, Jock, 
ye are maybe richt.” 

Peter could noways afford to quarrel with his 
nephew, who for so little money bore the burden and 
the heat of the day — often of the night also. Prayer- 
ful Peter was not fond of putting his own neck in 
peril, but he was by no means averse to Long-bodied 
John doing so. Affairs were equalised in this way. 
For if John were hanged, Peter would get nothing but 
a sea-suit or two, which in a manner of speaking were 
his already. While if he. Prayerful Peter Paton 
stretched his neck in the hangman’s tow — still more, 
if he died a natural death, John his nephew would heir 
all that he had. 

All the same Peter did not desire family strife. 
That his nephew should do his errands, when they 
were of a dangerous nature, suited him very well. 

“Aye,” he repeated, “ye are dootless richt, John. I 
hae noticed mysel’ that she is no that very particular. 
I saw her gaun ben wi’ dirty shoon yesterday ! That 
was aye something ! ” 

“ Humph,” grumbled John of the Long Body, but 
she wae oot wi’ them again in five minutes. I ken. 
They will mak’ the puir thing as clean as themsel’s, 
if ye let them bide thegither ! ” 

“ Dootless, John, ye ought to ken aboot the lassie’s 
shoon,” said his uncle, “for I saw ye cleanin’ them 
yoursel’, your elbows fleein, as fast as if ye had been 
baitin’ a trawl. Oh John — John — be guided by your 
auld uncle. Be warned by him. Aince was I mar- 


PETER AND LONG-BODIED JOHN 131 

net, and it near ruined me. It was lang syne — afore 
ye war born. She was a farmer’s dochter, up ayont 
there. I had to sell a boat to get her faither to tak’ 
her back — an awesome sum that whiles makes me 
wauken up in a cauld perspiration in my bed to 
this very day, thinkin’ that I hae to pay it ower 
again ! ” 

“And what,” inquired John, “ was the lassie’s faut 

“ Oh,” said his uncle, waving his hand down in the 
direction of the cottage, “just freits like yon. White- 
wash to the riggin, within and withoot ! No a rest 
for the sole o’ your fit — your verra claes compleened 
o’ — nae rest in your bed. She wondered how I could 
bear to be sae dirty, wi’ that muckle guid sea-water at 
my verra door ! And I tolled her that I had never 
been washen since the howdie did it, as far as I kenned, 
and that it wad verra likely kill me. But she juist 
said, unfeelin’ like — ‘ Kill awa, then, Peter. But ye 
dinna come into my hoose, smelling like a dozen auld 
fish-creels ! ' Oh, tak’ warnin’ in time John (his uncle 
continued, helping himself to a bite of tobacco from a 
large lump which was lying to swell in a pail adjacent) 
when ye mairry, tak’ a fine strappin’ fisher-lass that 
has smelt o’ last year’s herrin’ ever since they were 
oot o’ the nets, and wadna care gin the hoose was 
piled hand-high wi’ nets an’ bait, and the riffle-raffle o’ 
boats’ riggin smellin’ o’ a’ the fish i’ the sea, frae the 
sand-eels that ye howkit for late yestree to the blubber 
o’ the whale that was cast up on Black Point Martin- 
mas come a twalmonth ! ” 

Nephew John wiggled his long body and privately 
blasphemed his uncle. He too could be prayerful, but 
not aloud nor yet very orthodoxly. 

“Ye are a silly auld deevil,” said he, aloud, standing 
in no awe of his kinsman. “Your noddle has surely 
eneuch to do contrivin’ ploys for me to carry through. 
Let my affairs alane. Wha was thinkin’ o’ marriage ? 


132 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

I hae never passed half-a-dozen words wi’ the lass in 
my life ! ” 

“ A man wi’ a figure like yours, John, has little need o* 
words ” urged his uncle, insidiously, “ forbye, did ye no 
save the lass frae a watery grave ? Will she no be 
gratefu’ for that, think ye ? 

“ Gin ye caa linkin’ a boat-huik amang her duds and 
hoising her into the boat like a smuckle cod — if ye caa 
that coortin' — weel, I did that. It’s a peety the lass 
kenned naething aboot it, till she was in the hands o’ 
yon twa weemen doon there and lyin’ in her warm 
bed ! ” 

Then all at once he seemed to repent himself. It 
had not been the habit of the two men, who knew 
each other’s characters and failings, to have any reti- 
cences with each other upon points of gravity. 

“ I’m no denyin’,” said John with a certain hesitation, 
“ that the craitur’s bonny — aye, that she’s the bonniest 
lass that ever I saw — .” 

“ Wheesht, wheesht, John,” said his uncle, ‘‘ them’s 
no canny words, and ye will maybe be vexed for them, 
should they come to her lug. She micht baud ye to 
them afore the ceevil magistrate, ye ken. It’s an awe- 
some easy thing in this country for a man to get 
saddled wi’ a wife ! and ye ken, Jock, ye michtna get 
rid o’ her as easy as me — her faither bein’ a big man 
amang the rulers o’ the land, and moreover, ye hae 
never a boat to sell to pay the scaith-dues, as was my 
guid fortune in the hour o’ my distress ! ” 

“ Peter,” said Jock, contemptuously, ye are clev- 
erer than me — I own that. But whiles, man, ye show 
nae mair sense then a whelk. Do ye no see that the 
lass is bonny far ayont a’ the leddies that come here 
wi’ the great folk — bonnier than Leddy Dalrymple 
hersel’ — aye, though she is but dressed plain in an 
auld gown that no a fisher lass within sicht o’ Berwick 
Law wad put on her back. But she canna help bein’ 


PETER AND LONG-BODIED JOHN 133 

bonny onymair nor a sawmon troot ! Did ever ye see 
her smile, uncle ? ” 

“ Smile ? ” grunted Peter Pat on, who did not like 
being compared to a whelk even by his faithful part- 
ner, “ whatna fairlie’s that ? — A smile ? I never 
heard tell o’ ony siccan thing ! Does it grow on a 
bush ? ” 

And indeed smile is not a Loudon word. 

‘‘ It’s juist when a body laughs withoot -makkin’ a 
noise ! ” explained his nephew. 

“ Like this,” said Peter, showing his gums and some 
tobacco-stained ruins of teeth. 

“That,” said the contemptuous John, thinking of 
Ivie, “ that’s never a smile, man, Peter ! That’s mair 
like a cat when the dogs comer her and there’s no a 
tree handy — or (hitting a new local comparison) like a 
monkfish lying on a gravel bottom wi’ his mouth open 
waitin’ for the fry to come ben ! ” 

“ If ye canna be civil, Jock,” said his uncle, “ I’ll 
gang doon to the boat, and leave ye to your fate. 
Smile yoursel’ then, and let us see — you that’s sae 
clever ! ” 

Long-bodied John endeavoured to achieve an imita- 
tion of Ivie’s smile. His uncle watched with a fine 
critical scorn. 

“ Hum,” he said, “ maybe I was like a monk-fish 
waitin’ for his denner, but ye are for a’ the warl’ like 
a hen’s egg split across three-quarter way doon ! ” 

Long-bodied John rose to his feet. It was his time 
to be hurt in his feelings. 

“ I thocht I heard ye say,” — he spoke with biting sar- 
casm, — “ that ye were gaun doon to pit a stroke or twa 
o’ wark on the boat. I’ll e’en gang mysel’ to watch 
ye. The puir auld thing wad be that astonished, if ye 
did a hand’s turn on her, that she wad fair break sin- 
dry wi’ the surprise — just like the hen’s egg ! ” 

So uncle and nephew parted on mutually bad terms. 


134 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Thus, remotely, often unconsciously to herself, must 
one “ seek the woman ” in any quarrel of men. 

Women and dead men’s wills do more to divide man 
from man than creeds, religions, politics, business, all 
the scuffle and shouldering of life. 


CHAPTER XXI 


O THOU DECEITFUL TONSUE ! 

On the Bass things went otherwise. A dull despair 
sat close on the heart of Raith. Often he wished that 
he had never been recovered out of the water. He 
even thought of throwing himself again from the cliffs. 
But something, perhaps gleaned unconsciously from 
his early education, restrained him. Besides, so long 
as his father and brothers remained, there was work 
for him to do at the Bass. 

Since Ivie’s disappearance Grif and he had stayed 
down at the Castle. For the governor, finding an 
oppression in the house which had been made clean 
and fair by Ivie’s hand, resumed his old garrison habits 
and bedded like the men, only in a place apart, while 
Raith slept across the doorway within. There was, 
he knew, bad blood among the soldiers. And some 
night by mistake a musket might be protruded through 
the door, and Grif Rysland’s brains blown out as he 
lay asleep. The like had been done before. So Raith, 
who had transferred his devotion from the daughter to 
the father, locked the door of their lodging with his 
body. The governor would have slept in peace in any 
case, but he thought none the less of the young sol- 
dier's fidelity, and occupied much of his spare time 
(which on the Bass was not little) in teaching him 
sword-play and all manner of soldierly accomplishments 
in the little hollow of the governor’s garden, placed 
high on the cliff above the fort. 

By instinct both of the men kept silence concerning 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


136 

that which had happened. Ivie’s name was never 
mentioned between them. They even avoided each 
other’s eyes as zealously as they sought each other’s 
society. 

Raith’s vigilance was by no means superfluous. 
Among the riff-raff of prison-jacks and ruffian turn- 
keys who were thought good enough to garrison the 
Bass in time of peace and hold the prisoners in re- 
spect, Grif Rysland, accustomed to the perfect disci- 
pline of military establishments, and swift with his 
punishments, was hated almost insanely. Of course 
George Jex was at the head of any conjuration. But 
there was to be no sand-bagging, no musket balls fired 
point blank in the dark. George made that clear. 
Bodies had such an awkward way of turning up, and a 
Governor of the Bass could not go amissing over the 
cliff as an ordinary soldier might. No, they must hit 
upon something else. 

But it was a long time before they did. And indeed 
had the matter rested with themselves, it might never 
have been accomplished. There were not enough 
brains among the gang to entrap a Tammie-Norie. But 
on the other side of the bars were better brains. All 
who lay in His Majesty’s prisons for conscience sake 
were not of the true blue, any more than were all who 
wore the red coat bloody persecutors. 

Time and again Beattie Ellison inclined a curious 
ear to the talk of the sentries as they passed and re- 
passed. In fault of better. Old George had been made 
a kind of inspecting officer, and he used his opportuni- 
ties to talk matters over quietly at the end of the ter- 
race beat, where it overhung the sea, with the sentinel 
of the night. Hatred of Grif — “ Captain Grif,” they 
called him, was ever the mainspring of the talk — oaths 
and foul language their mode of expressing it. 

“ If only we could find something against him to 
write to the Council,” they said, “ the letter would not 


O THOU DECEITFUL TONGUE! 137 

need to be signed. They take up all sorts of com- 
plaints there. We could give it to one of the fisher- 
men — Hughie Allister, perhaps. But Captain Grif is 
a good soldier, though here he is a black tyrant, and 
on the Isle of the Bass ‘ All-Hell-let-Loose ’ 1 ” 

It was by this latter significant name that these men 
referred to him between themselves, and under their 
breaths — offscourings and maligners by nature, for the 
first time brought to book by the iron hand of Grif 
Rysland. 

To all this Beattie listened with eagerness. For one 
he had had enough of the Bass. Peden, the Prophet, 
wearied him out of patience with his groans and be- 
wailings. Sometimes he thought that he could have 
strangled him when he kept him awake at nights, pray- 
ing for “poor distressed Scotland,” and by long-drawn 
anticipations of the yet bloodier days that were in store 
for her before the fall of the Great Gloaming, preced- 
ing the night in which God should speak, and at His 
voice all the persecutors and malignants vanish for- 
ever away, and the Morn of final Peace dawn over a 
distracted land. 

The reason was, Beattie had not the root of the 
matter in him. So much Mr. Peden had long ago di- 
vined, even when he had seen him for the first time in 
the house-place of Mayfield. Now the Prophet com- 
pletely ignored him, not even answering when he spoke, 
nor allowing him any part in the continual services and 
“ sweet spiritual singings ” with which the prisoners 
solaced their empty days. 

Small wonder that the Bass soured on Beattie’s 
stomach. It was well enough for a little when there 
was hope of a speedy deliverance, and immortal fame 
ever after, as one who had suffered at the hands of the 
persecutors in the same cell with that Prince in Israel 
himself, Mr. Alexander Peden. 

Bealtie Ellison remembered too, that there were 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


138 

many good and faithful men quietly living in Edin- 
burgh, in Glasgow, and in Aberdeen, indulged by the 
Government — either for the quietness of their de- 
meanor, the silence of their tongues, or (so it was 
whispered) because they had been able to do some sig- 
nal piece of service to the King. What the nature of 
such service might be was always kept secret, to en- 
courage others to do likewise. 

Now, the governor of the rock was not hated by the 
prisoners as he was by the men of the guard. Though 
a ** strict officer,” he allowed them as much liberty as 
he judged possible or prudent. Each day half-a-dozen 
of the most amenable were allowed to wander over the 
Isle at their pleasure, with only Raith and another with 
them. Or, if the batch included any of the Ellisons, 
Raith was left at home. Then, not infrequently, the 
governor took the duty himself, along with the Eng- 
lishman, Tyars, or some other of the guard detailed 
for the purpose. 

It chanced that on one of these excursions, naturally 
very dear to prisoners cooped so long within narrow 
cells, Beattie made a point of lagging behind with old 
George Jex. He had something particular to say to 
him — a bargain which they must strike and to which 
they must both adhere. Beattie did not mean to give 
his knowledge for nothing — indeed not for anything 
less than pardon and freedom. But in his design he 
felt that he must have the backing of the soldiers of 
the garrison before he could strike for liberty. They 
would help him — he them. Neither could do without 
the other. 

There was a covert ability about Beattie Ellison. 
On a lower level and of a meaner sort, it was the same 
which had conducted James Sharp to the arch-diocese 
of St. Andrews. Some Latin he had taken up at the 
village school from Robert Melrose, the old school- 
master and grammarian, and the ministers who visited 


O THOU DECEITFUL TONGUE! 139 

his father’s house had taught him enough Greek to 
spell out the plainer narratives of the New Testament. 
Beattie was cunning, secret, and untiring. At home 
his chief desire had been to bring disgrace upon his 
youngest brother. Having succeeded in this, he judged 
that it would be for his good to pose as a sufferer. 
But a month or two of the hard floors and scanty fare 
of the Bass had completely cured him of this. “ I have 
something to say to you,” he said, secretly, as George 
Jex, who, his musket on his shoulder slowly waddled 
with many blasphemies up the steep ascent of the Isle. 

“ Hang me if I have aught to say to you,” growled 
Jex, “ only that if you will stop that prophet of yours 
from groaning all night, I will have double rations served 
out to you. That I promise on my faith. No one 
can sleep for him, and the lads are ready to draw cuts 
which should put the wizard out of his pain with a sil- 
ver button in his wame I ” 

** You do not love your governor ” said Beattie, 
softly. George Jex brought his weapon to the ready 
with his finger on the trigger. 

** Who says so — who dares to say so .^ ” he exclaimed. 

I know — I have heard you say so yourself,” Beattie 
answered, no whit put out. 

“ You have heard me — you ? ” 

Yes,” said Beattie, when you were walking with 
the sentries.” 

“ Then, young man,” said Old George, it strikes 
me that your days are numbered. You have heard 
too much, and your cell is convenient to the cliff.” 

‘‘ I judge not so,” smiled Beattie, “ for I know that 
about your governor, which, if told to my Lord Lid- 
desdale, would suffice to rid the Bass of him for ever. 
And I doubt not, that, rightly represented as, being a 
scholar, I could represent it in writing, the post would 
be given to you I ” 

And why > ” demanded Old George, suspiciously, 


140 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** why should you wish to do me a good turn and spite 
Governor Grif, who has been so favourable to you 
Whiggamores out of the West ?” 

Beattie leaned towards the sour-faced old man, 
glancing ostentatiously to this hand and the other to 
make sure of not being overheard. 

Because,” he said, ‘‘ I hate /tzm ! ” 

And he pointed with his hand to the figure of his 
brother, which was clearly relieved against the white 
sky of noon. The governor stood beside Raith Elli- 
son, and the two seemed in deep and intimate converse 
together. 

I see,” said George Jex, slowly, by striking one 
you would hit the other. It is true. I would make 
short work of the Red Dragoon if I were governor of 
the Bass ! ” 

The voices of these two worthies sank to a whisper, 
and in a few minutes they fell apart, as the governor 
turned sharply about to keep his eye upon all his pris- 
oners. Beattie regained his cell without uttering 
another word, but that very night. Old George, him- 
self on guard, left his lantern hanging for a couple of 
hours, on a nail above the little grating of Beattie’s 
cell. Within, Peden the Prophet prayed while his 
companion wrote page after page, putting each into 
his bosom as it was finished. 

And the burden of the Wise Man’s prayer was in- 
deed that of a true prophet ! 

“ Thou lovest all devouring words, O thou deceitful tongue 1 ” 

And this he repeated time and again. 


CHAPTER XXII 


DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF 

The letter which Beattie Ellison wrote in his cell by 
the light of Old George’s lantern, while Mr. Peden 
prayed, was to this effect : 

“To the Most Honourable the Members of the 
King’s Privy Council at Edinburgh — the Information 
and petition of Beattie Ellison of Mayfield in Galloway, 
presently in the prison of the Bass for supposed dis- 
loyalty to the King’s Majesty, the contrary being the 
case. The said Beattie Ellison has suffered many 
things from his family because of his attachment to the 
government and his desire to live peaceably according 
to the law. His brother, Raith Ellison, is at present a 
soldier in the King’s service, and is even now upon 
the island of the Bass. 

“ If the honourable Council will summon the writer 
before them, he can give them valuable information 
with regard to the man calling himself Captain Grif — 
being a foreigner of the name of Rysland, and a Dutch 
spy. He is at present being searched for, because of 
a cruel murder committed by him upon the body 
of one of his Majesty’s most faithful servants and 
officers. He is also secretly a rebel. He grants to 
the prisoners under his charge many privileges, more 
even than to the faithful soldiers of the guard (who 
will support this appeal by a further petition to the 
same effect). He permits these traitors to roam over 
the Isle at their will, besides supplying expensive 
victual and French wines to them at his Majesty’s ex- 


142 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


pense — to all of which the aforesaid B. E. will speak 
more at large before the Honourable Council if, in its 
great wisdom, an opportunity is afforded him.” 

The turnkey’s petition was shorter, but equally to 
the point. 

** The garrison of the Bass to the Privy of Edinburgh. 
— This is to inform Privy that the man called Capt. 
Grif treats us shameful, kicking and lashing without 
reason. He is no Captain but a common soldier sent 
away for ill-doing out of the south country. He is 
also a rebble, and said three times that he would 
strangle our worthy corpral and sub-commander, 
George Jex, who fowt very valiant for the King’s 
father against the Usurper Crommle. Guvernr Grif 
swore also many times by the blood of the King, which 
shows that he was art and part in a plot to murder the 
King, as is clear to all here. Hoping that you will 
take order with this fals traitor Grif, and give us a 
new Govemr — such as has fowt again Crommle and is 
ready to fight again against all Tyrants and Usurpers 
whatsoever. 

NAME OF THE GARRISON OF THE BASS.” 

To this vigorous epistle no personal signatures were 
appended, but there was no need to be particular. 
George Jex had signed it all over. 

Both these documents were given to the fisherman 
Allister, and were carried to shore and despatched by 
a sure hand to Edinburgh, by means, indeed, of the 
unconscious nephew of Prayerful Peter — who, had he 
suspected what he was carrying, would undoubtedly 
have sunk the packet in the sea. But, coming from 
the usual covenanting quarter and dropped into his 
boat at the hour of dusk by the confederate on the 
cliffs above, all passed without suspicion, and the 
double missive sped on its way. 

, But underground mines sometimes work not alto- 


DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF 143 


4 


gather according to expectation. There is something 
the matter with the fuse. The explosion happens too 
soon or too late, or the powder is damp. 

Now His Majesty’s Privy Council for Scotland was 
at this time a body singularly nervous and touchy. 
More than once it had taken up allegations against 
one of its own members upon anonymous authority. 
However it chanced that when the denunciations ar- 
rived from the Bass, the President, my Lord of Lid- 
desdale, was in an excellent humour, and was not 
greatly moved either by the proposed revelations of 
Beattie Ellison, or by the obviously interested com- 
plaints of the soldiers. He would most likely have 
re-enclosed both documents to the Governor of the 
Bass for note and comment, had it not been for the 
chance presence at the Council table of no less a per- 
son than His Highness the Duke of York himself. 

At this time the Duke was always on the watch for 
whatever would help him to get creditably through 
the next hour, and it struck him that it would be sport 
to have the treacherous Whig and the indignant Gov- 
ernor brought face to face. 

“And who is this governor.?” he demanded, fin- 
gering the letter Beattie had written, and which, con- 
sidering how little light old George’s lantern afforded, 
was really a triumph of caligraphy. 

Liddesdale looked a little discomfited, but he an- 
swered adroitly enough. 

“ Your Grace, he is an officer of Colonel Grahame’s, 
recommended strongly by him for the post — indeed 
his own resignation was threatened if it were not 
yielded.” 

“Ah, Colonel Grahame,” said Duke James, in an 
altered tone, “ there is more in this man than I 
thought. Let me see ; the Colonel will be in Edin- 
burgh tomorrow night, and can answer for himself. 
What say you .? Let us have the tell-tale Whig and 


144 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


the Colonel’s protege before us. Then we can 
call in Colonel Graham e and ask him what had best be 
done ! ” 

<‘I can tell your Grace that beforehand,” said Lid- 
desdale dryly. “ For the scribbling Whig there will 
be a rope needed down in the Grassmarket, and as to 
Captain Grif, I judge that Colonel Grahame will not 
let us off under a Baronetcy of Nova Scotia for him ! ” 

“ By St. Anthony, I love a man ! ” cried the Duke, 
“ it pleasures me that a little laird and colonel of horse 
can thus override you all ! I would give a hundred 
pound to see Colonel Grahame’s face when you tell 
him that his man is in danger of his life on a Whig’s 
information. Ha — I promise myself much entertain- 
ment. Let the examination be settled for Tuesday 
and let the Whig and the Governor be sent for sepa- 
rately from the Bass. I shall preside at your meeting 
in person.” 

The Duke turned on his heel and strolled out, leav- 
ing the Council to glance uneasily at each other. 

“ Very well for him,” said my Lord Liddesdale, at 
last, “ Colonel Grahame have we always with us — ^but 
my Lord Duke have we not always ! He will rate us 
like curs when the Duke is gone ! ” 

Tuesday was not long in coming, filled congenially 
for the members of the Privy Council with the sen- 
tencing of preachers, the depriving of doubtful offi- 
cials, the fining of non-church-attending lairds, and 
the issuing of warrants of apprehension against all 
rebels, Whigs, and rigorous Presbyterians. Yet there 
sat hardly one about that council table who had not 
been all three — a fact which perhaps caused them to 
be all the keener in carrying out the orders which came 
to them from London. 

The Duke was unusually prompt. The ordinary 
President of the Council, the Earl of Liddesdale, 
stood aside to give him the chief seat. Buccleuch, the 


DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF 145 

man of the greatest influence among them, ordinarily 
so proud and arrogant, fawned upon the King’s brother 
and the heir to the throne. Lord Advocate Mackenzie, 
the bloodhound of the troop, sat a little apart, at once 
watchful and scornful, with the brow of a scholar and 
the eyes of Reynard the fox. 

The Duke of York threw himself back with a pleased 
chuckle. 

“I have warned Colonel Grahame,” he said, '‘that 
he might be wanted at the Council to-day, but have 
given him no inkling of the cause. I said only that 
my Lord of Liddesdale told me so.” 

“ For that courtesy I thank your Grace ! ” said Lid- 
desdale, more drily than was usual with him. 

“ Whereupon,” continued James, “ Colonel Grahame 
asked if so be my Lord Liddesdale had lost the power 
of speech that he could not communicate his own mes- 
sages, but must use royal messengers to command a 
soldier’s attendance ! ” 

Liddesdale shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing, 
while the Duke, looking round the Council from under 
his long veiled eyelashes, maliciously enjoyed the gen- 
eral discomfiture. 

“ It strikes me certain great men have found their 
master,” he said, " but be not afraid — I shall not call 
him in till the proper moment.” 

The Chamber of the Privy Council of Scotland was 
long and low, dark oak above, wainscotted beneath. 
One corner was completely curtained off, but an im- 
peded fold of the cloth, catching upon a hook in the 
wall, permitted a glimpse of the strangest engines of 
torture (in which the Duke took so great interest) the 
“boot,” the rack, and other instruments such as the 
Council found useful in persuading the costive of 
speech. 

Bars of treble thickness and full eight feet high de- 
fended the tables round which sat the members of the 
10 


146 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Council, from the cage into which the prisoners about 
to be examined were introduced. This change had 
been made ever since the great day when huge Sandy 
Gordon, called the bull of Earlstoun, had charged 
among them with his gaud of iron, and, as saith the 
record, loundered them soundly upon the broadest of 
their apparel with the bar of iron, till all the courtyard 
itself was filled with the cries of the mighty Privy 
Council of Scotland.” 

“ Let the Whig with the long tongue be brought 
in ! ” said the Duke, leaning back and thrusting both 
thumbs into his waistband. 

“ Bring in Beattie Ellison ! ” ordered Liddesdale, 
succinctly, indicating the iron cage of witnessing with 
his forefinger. 

Upon Beattie the Bass had put its mark, and he 
looked mean and sneaking, moving restlessly about 
like a trapped animal behind the bars. 

‘‘ Stand still in one place and answer my Lords ! ” 
said the soldier, who, with a drawn sword, stood behind 
him. “ That is the Duke himself at the table-head I ” 

Of all present only the Duke of York and Sir George 
Mackenzie manifested the least interest in Beattie or 
in his testimony. 

It was the Duke of York who asked the questions. 
A continual though languid curiosity possessed him. 
In other circumstances he would have been the chief 
gossip of a village and filled the post to a marvel. 

** You wrote the Privy Council a letter offering to 
discover certain secrets which concern the Governor 
of the prison in which you find yourself. Well, tell 
me, what do you expect to gain by that, supposing for 
a moment that we should find you are well informed 
and your information useful ? ” 

‘‘ Only the protection of my Lords, and the con- 
sciousness of having served the King,” said Beattie, 
only liberty to continue my studies in the arts ! ” 


DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF 14; 

“ Doubtless that you may proceed to Holland, and 
thence come back full-fledged with treason to mislead 
the poor ignorant folk of the hills,” said the Duke of 
York. 

“ Nay,” urged Beattie, with seeming earnestness, ** I 
am indeed no fanatic. My brother serves His Majesty 
in his Dragoon Guards. I would serve him in the 
church — having leanings to such a life ! ” 

“As a curate ? Under the authority of a bishop, 
and ordained by him ? ” demanded Sir George Mac- 
kenzie, better accustomed to probe wavering and whig- 
gish consciences. 

Beattie appeared to find a difficulty in speaking. 
He gulped, but at last got out the single word 
“ Yes ! ” 

“ Hum,” said the Duke of York, somewhat bored by 
Sir George’s interruption, “very well. Now, let us 
hear what you have to say.” 

“ My Lords,” said Beattie, beginning his prepared 
speech, “ may it please you, it has come to my knowl- 
edge — ” 

“ Get on ! ” ordered the Duke sharply, “ speak plain 
and 'Short as you value your neck ! ” 

“ The commander of the troops on the Bass calls 
himself * Captain Grif,’ ” said Beattie, “ his real name 
is Sergeant Major Rysland, of Cornet Grahame’s troop 
of Dragoons, and my brother with his own eyes saw 
him kill one of His Majesty’s most faithful servants, 
the Laird of Houston in Galloway, cousin to the Laird 
of Lag, and one of the officers of the local militia.” 

At this Liddesdale looked up sharply. 

“ Ha,” he began, “ why, we have been searching for 
that fellow everywhere ! ” 

But the Duke of York silenced him with a wave of 
his hand. 

“ Give the man his tether,” he murmured, “ it is yet 
a good half hour before Colonel Grahame will be here.” 


143 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Then in a louder tone he added, “And so your brother 
told you this — the soldier of dragoons ?” 

“No,” said Beattie, hastily, eager to have all the 
credit to himself, “ he is all on the Governor’s side. I 
myself knew Sergeant Major Rysland when he was 
quartered in Irongray village. I recognized him at once 
when I was sent prisoner to the Bass. Of the murder 
there were several witnesses, all belonging to the mili- 
tia except my brother, who saw the killing by accident 
from the side of Kersland quarry-hole ! ” 

“ So you would lay aside the Whig cloak for the 
curate’s cassock, my lad ? ” inquired the Duke of York, 
smiling with a languid sort of finesse, “ you have, then, 
no vocation for the military scarlet like your brother ? ” 
“ None, my Lord Duke!” said Beattie, who, not 
knowing the King’s brother, imagined that he was 
speaking to the Duke of Queensbury, “ I had thought 
that I might be indulged with a cure of souls under 
your Grace’s own eye I ” 

A faint quiver of mirth passed about the board. 
James felt it as something in the air, for of course the 
obduracy of his Roman views were known to all. 

“I do not think that entirely likely,” he said, smiling, 
“ that were a change indeed ! ” 

“ But as to this Rysland being a Dutch spy,” he 
went on, “ upon what do you base that charge ? ” 

“ My Lord,” said Beattie, “ he was formerly in the 
service of the Prince of Orange ! ” 

“ Hem,” remarked the Duke carelessly, “ I am not 
over fond of my good son-in-law but I would not hold 
it sufficient ground for calling a man a spy, that he had 
once served with the Prince. He breeds good soldiers, 
our Buckram Man, and this governor fellow, even by 
your own telling, seems to be monstrous ready with 
weapons I ” 

“ There remains his freedom with the provisions,” 
continued the Duke, after a pause, “ I see not much 


DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF 14^ 

in that to detain us. Had you your share of the 
claret, sirrah ? ” 

“I had,” Beattie admitted, “I was compelled to 
drink it ! ” 

“Be thankful, then,” said Duke James. Officer, 
bid the governor of the Bass step this way. No, not 
into the prisoners’ dock — let us have no bloodshed. 
Here — at the table’s end. I thank you my Lord Ad- 
vocate ! ” 

Sir George Mackenzie had moved his chair back so 
that there might be room for the Governor. 

Grif entered with a firm and even haughty step. 
All his life he had stood before great princes, warlike 
lords, and the mighty of the earth and having the con- 
science of duty performed, why should Grif Rysland 
discomfort himself ? 

“A good day, Mr. Governor,” said the Duke, bow- 
ing courteously, “ the Lords of the Privy Council have 
some questions to ask of you. First, do you know 
this man ? ” 

Grif 3 eye passed over Beattie Ellison, with a single 
glance of contempt. 

“ He is, I believe, one of the prisoners sometime 
committed to my charge in the Castle of the Bass. 
He was taken over by order of the Clerk of Council 
the night before last, and conveyed to Edinburgh. I 
hold a receipt for the delivery of his body and so am 
clear of him.” 

“ You are not aware, then, that he has preferred 
certain accusations against you .? ” continued the Duke 
“ which, if true, are of the last degree of seriousness.” 

“ No, my Lord, ” said Grif, simply, “ of that I was 
not aware.” 

“ He accused you of bearing a false name, and 
claiming a false rank upon the Bass, of having imposed 
upon Colonel Grahame, of having murdered the Laird 
of Houston, a valued officer of the King, and with 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


150 

having distributed indiscriminate charity to the fanat- 
ics, your prisoners on the Island, in order to gain their 
good will in any future troubles ! ” 

“ My Lords,” said a new and firm voice, of a military 
brusqueness, “ I am here to answer these charges — 
that is, if your Highness will permit me to speak.” 

Duke James nodded indulgently, with a half-mocking 
smile at those about him. 

In Scotland everything is permitted to Colonel 
Graham e, so far as I have seen,” he said, “ I am glad 
that I have left most of my valuables behind me in 
London, except (he added, in an undertone) Anne 
Hyde, whom God preserve ! ” 

Col. Grahame took no notice of anything but the 
permission to speak. 

“ Then,” he said, grimly, I will answer these accu- 
sations one by one. This gentleman’s name is Grif 
Rysland. I asked of the Privy Council to confer on 
him the brevet-rank of Captain upon his appointment 
as Governor of the Bass, which I now further ask of 
them to confirm. It is true that he killed in a duel, 
after the most serious provocation, a certain pestilent 
fellow named the Laird of Houston — one of those 
whose stupid excesses give the King’s service an evil 
name. From him Capt. Grif Rysland took no favours. 
He accepted one of Houston’s own friends for a sec- 
ond, waived his choice of weapons, of position, every- 
thing — and allowed the fellow three several chances 
of making an apology. For me, I would not have 
given him one. And then — sent him flying to his own 
place ! ” 

At this moment a messenger entered the Council 
room breathless with haste, and, kneeling the while, 
handed a sealed letter to the Duke. He flipped it 
open, read it hastily, changed colour, and with a serious, 
“ You must excuse me, gentlemen all ? ” he quitted 
the table and the room, 


DUKE JAMES AMUSES HIMSELF 15 1 

It was an evil moment for Grif Rysland. For at 
the door, as if struck with a sudden thought, Duke 
James turned, and calling out, “ Colonel Grahame, pray 
attend me. I have need of your council ! ” He was 
gone and Grif’s defender with him. 

Liddesdale moved into the vacant place at the head 
of the table and there was a long silence. Grif kept 
his place immovable, his hand on his sword-hilt, and as 
for Beattie, nobody regarded him at all — not even the 
soldier who with drawn sword had been set to guard 
him in the iron-barred cage. 

“ Ah, Sergeant,” said Liddesdale at last, “it may be 
as well to defer this business. After all, killing is 
killing, even if it be no murder, whatever Colonel 
Grahame may say. And there are other matters.” 

He put out his hand, selected Old George’s letter 
and read it aloud. 

“ What have you to say to that he asked with 
something of a brow-beating air. 

“ Simply this,” said Grif, “ I found a lot of jail-refuse 
on the Bass, thriving on the plunder of the prisoners, 
ignorant of the manual of exercise, ignorant of drill, 
ignorant of musketry practice. On these points they 
have been informed. That is all.” 

“ The Laird of Houston was a notable man,” said 
Liddesdale, “ and useful to us. We cannot look over 
that altogether. At the same time. Sergeant, we rec- 
ognize that you are a gallant man, and for the present 
would not put any personal restraint upon you. But 
till we have further deliberated, we order you not to 
return to the Bass, and hold yourself ready to appear 
before us again when we summon you ! ” 

“ I will do more,” said Grif Rysland, “with the per- 
mission of the most noble Council. I am a soldier of 
fortune. I have served many masters in many lands. 
I have never yet been faulted, nor will I now. What 
I have done I am ready to answer for. I therefore re- 


152 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


sign the brevet rank which, at the request of Colonel 
Grahame, you bestowed upon me, as well as any claim 
to that which my commander has just asked for me. 
I retire to rest this old sword, my Lords of the Coun- 
cil. I had a daughter and she is dead. Why should 
I break any more a thankless bread ? I have striven 
to serve the King faithfully, and my sole wish is that 
the King's Councillors had been better content with 
me ! ” 

Grif bowed and went out, none hindering him or re- 
turning his salute. 

‘‘Again there fell a silence, which after a while 
Queensbury broke, “ This is your doing, Liddesdale," 
he said, “ I hope you see your way through it. It 
strikes me that the King has lost a good servant and 
a stout sword this day ! ” 

“And that,” queried Tarbert, “ what are you going 
to do with — t/zat f ” 

He pointed to Beattie standing still in his cage. 

Liddesdale looked at him thoughtfully a moment, a 
doubtful frown on his brow. He was on the point of 
sending him to the “ Free Toom ” for all such as got 
in the way of Charles the Second’s Privy Council — 
that is — to the Grassmarket of Edinburgh. But after 
a long look at the young man’s face he changed his 
mind. 

“ Faith,” he said, “ he hath after all a look of Jamie 
Sharp. We may make something of him yet. Officer 
of the Chamber, give this lad a bed at your house, and 
entertain him fitly at the expense of the King — but no 
claret, mind. He hath complained of it.” 

And so, laughing at the smallness of his own jest 
the President of the Council drew his peers off to the 
consideration of the other business which lay before 
them. And Grif Rysland wandered down the High 
Street of Edinburgh once more a free man. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS 

Quietly in the house of Prayerful Peter, quietly in 
the snug cove of Cantie Bay, under the frowns of Tan- 
tallon, proceeded the days. But right stormily they 
went, out on the Bass, across that narrow blue strait of 
restless gleaming water. Between peace absolute and 
angry plotting, Long-bodied John was the one link of 
connection. He crossed every morning to the Bass, 
and in the dusk of each evening he was to be found 
under the cliff. Things went from bad to worse till 
one day there broke forth mutiny, evasion, chase, cap- 
ture, the crackle of musketry, the angry uprising of 
myriads of sea-birds, the escape and secreting of a fugi- 
tive in the caverns under. 

All, however, went on as usual about that peaceful 
pyramid of rock at anchor out there on the summer 
waters, and nothing was obvious from the shore, not 
even to the quick eyes of Prayerful Peter. Only Long- 
bodied John, passing here and there in his boat upon 
the endless affairs of his uncle, noted certain white jets 
of smoke that rose and melted into the thinner air, 
almost as fast as the reek of his own pipe when he lay 
in the sun at the cave’s mouth, the cave of his refuge 
from overmuch landward cleanliness. 

“ It cannot be the solans they are wasting powder 
upon,” he meditated, “ they would take the fat little 
gorbs in their hands at this time of year. No more can 
it be the rabbits. They would set snares at the hole’s 
mouth. It cannot be the prisoners they are shooting 


154 the cherry ribband 

at. They have to answer for them to the Bluidy 
Mackenzie.” 

He thought awhile. Then suddenly he slapped his 
hand on his knee. 

It’s that red sodjer, Raith Ellison, the Whig turn- 
coat that Governor Grif made commander when he left 
the Island. Grif has not come back, and this is the 
third day. They will ken what that means. He is in 
disgrace — in the grip of the Council, and they are hunt- 
ing the poor young man like a partridge among the 
mountains. I declare I will take out the boat and see ! ” 

It was no difficult thing that morning for John of 
the Lengthy Body to lay a course for the Isle. He 
had his sail set, and his fishing lines displayed. 

They will not know any better — except Allister, 
that is,” he said, ‘‘ and I may as well see the fun.” 

But on the Bass it was no fun for Raith Ellison. It 
was true that he had been left as interim governor of 
the Bass, in the absence of Grif Rysland, departed to 
Edinburgh to answer the demand of the Privy Coun- 
cil. Against him Old George, with all save Tyars, the 
Englishman, and the fisher lads Allister and his 
cousins, formed a firm conspiracy. 

One day — two days — three days the mutineers had 
waited eagerly for news. Then from Edinburgh, 
written fairly upon official paper and bearing the stamp 
of the privy council, came to George Jex the news that 
the petition of the garrison of the Bass had been gra- 
ciously listened to. Governor Grif would no more re- 
turn, and as for B. E. (who communicated this intelli- 
gence), he was being entertained with kindness within 
the precincts of the Council Chamber itself at the ex- 
pense of the King, and ‘‘ was in the way of being ex- 
alted to greater honour.” 

It was little, but for such men it was enough. 
George Jex would have liked to receive a definite 
mandate constituting him governor of the fortress and 


THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS 155 


prison of the Bass, but his band of followers cared not 
at all for that. They had no particular objection to 
Old George as a governor. They knew well that they 
would frighten, bully, coax, or compulse George at 
their will. But of one thing they were certain. They 
would no longer obey Raith Ellison. Whoever was 
Governor of the Bass, he was not. The disgrace of 
the master bore with it the downfall of the man. 

But Raith Ellison had had some months’ training at 
the hands of a soldier great among soldiers. He had 
learned more things than one, and he had no lack of 
courage. 

At the first symptom of dissatisfaction, he had 
promptly knocked over the culprit, a hulking fellow 
named Corkcodale, a Stranraer Irishman, as the saying 
is. Next he ordered him to be placed in a cell, an 
order which, in the absence of Old George, and the 
unknown sentiments of Maurice Tyars, was grum- 
blingly and even insolently obeyed. 

By the time Old George appeared, peace had again 
been restored — that is, to all appearance. Raith was 
making the usual round of the prisoners’ cells, steeling 
his heart to meet the silence of his father and the 
averted eyes of Gil. He asked at each door whether 
there were any complaints to make, arranged for the 
cleansing details of the day, and was about to leave 
the cell behind the bars of which stood Peden, the 
Prophet, when the old minister, who had never taken 
his eyes off the young man’s face, motioned him to 
come closer. 

“ Snows on Lebanon,” he said, in his usual mystic 
manner, “ snows that are near the melting ! Husks 
in the swine-troughs of a far country ! The prodigal 
is an hungered and there is none to give unto him. 
Apples of Sodom — grapes of Gomorrah — oh, bitter, 
bitter fruit ! The young do foolishness in the sight of 
the Lord, but their sin is not unto death. Over the 


156 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


wall with you, lad. For you the wicked bend the bow. 
They spread the net. Over the wall, I tell you, and 
the Lord of all the families of the earth be gracious 
to the son of poor stubborn William Ellison.” 

Something about the Prophet’s manner — a tang of 
invincible reality in his message bore in upon Raith 
Ellison. The corner of the bars offered a foothold — 
not from the side of the prisoners, but from that of 
the terrace walk along which the sentry on duty was 
wont to march. But he was at that moment in the 
main guard along with Old George Jex and his fellow- 
ruffians. 

Their plan was to fall upon Raith as he went out. 
A knife in his throat and a quiet berth among the 
straw at the back of the guard room would do his 
business till the night should come. Then they could 
dispose of the body, as everything is disposed of on the 
Bass, over the cliffs which descend sheer into the sea. 

To his surprise Raith found a stout doubled rope 
securely attached to an iron ring in the wall. It was 
Allister the fisherman’s cradle on which he swung the 
prisoners’ packages first to the little stand of rock, 
from which he lowered them into the boat of Long- 
bodied John, lying immediately beneath. In an in- 
stant Raith had reached the same perch of peril. From 
here, with a leap and then a short crawl on hands and 
knees he got upon the turf of the Isle, just at the 
place where the nests of the gannets mustered thick- 
est. Raith slipped on the half-rotten piles of sea- 
weed. The older birds moved awkwardly away before 
him. The younger lay meekly crouching closely to 
the ground, as if praying him not to tread upon them. 
Some were quite small and only partially fledged. 
Others were covered with fine down, while yet others 
were apparently ready to fly. 

Curiously enough the parent gannets did not rise 
with the clamorous ostentation of most sea-birds. And 


THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS 157 

to this doubtless, Raith owed his life. The sentinel 
put his head out of the main guafd from time to time, 
watching the progress of the acting governor along 
the front of the cells. It did not at all surprise him 
that he should enter one or other of these. Both Elli- 
son and his master Captain Grif, had such interfering 
tricks. With a smile he jerked his head back to re- 
port, as he observed Raith pass hastily before the 
prison-house of his father and brother. 

The family quarrel is not made up yet, George,” 
he said. “ The martyrs will not have anything to do 
with the prodigal ! ” 

‘‘ I’ll martyr him,” growled George Jex, truculently, 
“ I’ll make up the quarrel once and for all. Now do 
you understand, you three ? You are to jump on him 
from the ledge of the gun-rack. I will meet him in 
front.” 

“ And who is to do it, George .? ” said the sentry, 
turning a little pale. 

I will,” said George, licking his lips ; “ in my youth 
I was prentice to a flesher in the West Port, and — see 
here, lads, it was like this that we blooded the calves ! ” 

He produced a knife as he spoke, made a suggestive 
pass, and the sentry shuddered. Some of the others, 
however, appeared fascinated. 

“ Don’t, George,” said one of them, “ give him a 
chance for his life ! It seems like murder.” 

“ It is murder,” said George Jex, grimly, “ but it’s 
the only way. Throwing over the cliffs is no good — 
boats always about — look yonder, — and he can swim 
like a gull. Was’nt he over Hughie’s cliff once before, 
and turned up again as sound as Berwick Law ! ” 

“ Hey, what’s that .? ” called out the sentry, suddenly, 
“ run, George — somebody’s calling you ! ” 

’ Tis only Tom Earsman, silly loon,” said another, 
“ he’s always twistin’ the necks of them half-grown 
solans ! ” 


158 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


However, a suspicion darted through the mind of 
Old George. Tom Earsman’s down at the landing- 
place waiting for more news,” he said, “ run along you, 
and see that the Lobster-back is safe in the cells. 
Fetch word quick, what he is doing there so long, and 
you lads, get up on the rack and be ready to jump on 
his back when I give the word. Not a sound ! ” 

The sentry ran from one cell to the other, looking 
for Raith, in every case vainly. Peden received his 
anxious inquiry with the text which certainly, all things 
considered, had some bearing on the circumstances : 
“ Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their 
cords from us ! ” 

And as the discomfited sentinel made his way back, 
the voice of the prophet rang in his ears with the stern 
message “ He that sitteth in the Heavens shall laugh 
— the Lord shall have them in derision.” 

But though the rage of Old George Jex burst out in 
a perfect fury on his return, it was checked by the 
sounds that came from above. Shots, outcries, excla- 
mations, view halloos, the scampering of men in pursuit 
of an escaping quarry. 

From the corner above the castle Raith was plain to 
be seen making his way towards the eastern portion of 
the Isle. 

We have him,” gasped Old George, who was not 
made for uphill exercise, “ all that part is bare cliff and 
made slippery by the birds.” 

“ Crack ! Crack ! ” went the shots as Raith made a 
dart across the open grass or took shelter for a 
moment behind a rock. He had only a double-barrelled 
pistol with him, the legacy of Grif, who had advised 
him always to carry it among that scaly crew.” He 
had, however, in addition, his powder-flask at his side, 
and plenty of balls loose in his waistcoat pocket. So 
he waited, glancing with care at his priming, and 
remembering with a kind of thankfulness how that 


THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS 159 

very morning before entering on his rounds, he had 
recharged both barrels from the Governor’s own 
store. He lay quite still. The bullets clipped sharply 
on the rocks near him, and some of them sped away 
in new directions humming like bumble-bees. One 
almost spent burned his ear, as if a red-hot pin had 
been thrust through it. He did not know that he had 
been wounded till the blood dropped on the back of 
his hand. 

“ Go on — take him ! Take him ! ” shouted Old 
George, painfully labouring up the slippery grass, 
forward with you, cowards ! He is unarmed, I tell 
you ! Seize him before he gets down the cliff ! ” 

One Bully Bellows, a gutter rat of the Edinburgh 
High Street, advanced, his musket in both hands. 

“ I see him ! ” he shouted, After me — we have 
him. He will not knock us about any more ! ” 

“ Ping ! ” with a kind of barking noise Raith’s pistol 
spoke. It was a long and heavy arm, made for a 
cavalry-man’s holster, but Grif had shown him how to 
wear it unobtrusively underneath his coat. 

“ You can’t carry it so on horseback,” he had said, 
“ for if you fell the stock would break your leg. But 
when you have to go on foot into a company which 
may be honest and may not, why then, Raith lad. 
Sir Double-Mouth is almost as good as a trusty com- 
rade at your elbow ! ” 

Bully Bellows came on shouting, but at that little 
“ ping ” down he went all his length on the grass. It 
was a steep place and his body rolled over and over 
apparently as pliable as a bag of wool till it reached 
the bottom of the slope. His companions had refuged 
behind some rocks, and the one nearest to Bully, 
reached out a cautious hand and drew him into shelter 
also. 

Old George regarded the wound at first with alarm, 
and then suddenly his face cleared. 


i6o 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** I was none so easy in my mind before,” he said, 
** but this settles it. He has killed Bully. Bully is as 
good as dead. And if we kill the murderer now, it is 
in self-defence.” 

Which was exceedingly clear to all concerned, and a 
comfort to other troubled minds besides that of George 
Jex. The only man dissatisfied was Bully Bellows 
himself, who, being only shot through the shoulder did 
not wish to die, even though it was pointed out to him 
that by so doing he would certainly save his comrades’ 
necks from a chance of the gallows — in case the law- 
yers should make any mistake over yonder,” as Old 
George said, sententiously, pointing to the smoke of 
Edinburgh upon the far horizon. 

But Raith lay still, ambuscaded behind his rocks, just 
where the slope began to lean towards the easterly 
cliff. The assailants knew not how many shots he had 
to distribute among them. But they remembered well 
enough the long hours that Raith and Captain Grif 
used to spend firing at the mark. And indeed the 
sight of Bully Bellows twisting himself in agony at 
their elbows, prevented them from being too forward 
in pursuit. 

Old George might order and swear. They were 
used to that. If George Jex were so bold, let him go 
himself and take the Lobster-back prisoner, or shoot 
him through the head if so he pleased. As for them, 
another time would do very well. 

“ See here,” called out Red Bob, a keefy from the 
Saltmarket of Glasgow, “ this is your job, George. At 
it ye go ! For us we are not such fools as to run after 
a man that can crack an egg at thirty paces with a 
bullet.” 

“ Nonsense, ye black cowards,” cried George Jex, 
“ he has no more than a shot or two at the most. It 
is but a rush and all is over.” 

** I dare say,” retorted Red Bob, ** and two of us 


THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS i6i 


would be over as well. He will have to come out of 
that for meat and drink. Let us starve him out, 
say I.” 

“ There are eggs on the rocks,” retorted Old George, 
“guillemots and late-laying sea-mews. There’s meat 
and drink for him at pleasure. At him, lads. It will 
be over in a minute ! ” 

But Old George could not prevail. There was no 
real unity among his forces. It was each for his own 
skin. So the best he could do was to post half a dozen 
to see that Raith Ellison did not leave his fortress, and 
to take pot-shots at him as often as he showed himself. 

But a new mind came on the scene when Maurice 
Tyars appeared. He was no friend to Old George and 
had had nothing to do with his futile combinations. 
But when he ascended the hill and stood by the side of 
his wounded comrade. Bully Bellows, it seemed to him 
that there was at last a chance for him. The Eng- 
lishman had by far the best head of the garrison. 

“ I will capture this fellow who has wounded Bully,” 
he said to himself, “ George is an old doating ninny, 
and will never get any credit, or know how to use it 
if he did. But here is a wounded man, and yonder is 
the man who has done it.” 

He suddenly saw himself named Governor of the 
Bass for services rendered. 

So he suggested that instead of remaining at their 
posts all day till the darkness came, when Ellison 
could easily slip past them, or put a bullet into them 
from behind, they should scatter and by gettting be- 
hind him, put him into the center of a ring of mus- 
kets. Or failing that, they could easily pin him into a 
comer, and fire upon him from above. 

“ With our numbers we can always keep the height 
of the island against one man,” he argued. 

There was sense in what Maurice Tyars said, and 
as the garrison spread out and round, it soon became 
u 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


162 

obvious that it would not be possible for Raith to re- 
main where he was. So he stripped his red coat, 
which made him everywhere so prominent a mark. 
He was now in his shirt and breeches, a clean-limbed 
lithe figure, accustomed from his youth to running and 
climbing. All at once he stood erect, shouted defi- 
ance, and then as instantly ducked, thus escaping the 
volley that spatted viciously on the rocks which shel- 
tered him. 

Then while the greater number of the hostile pieces 
(and certainly all those of the best and quickest shots) 
were thus empty, Raith made a bolt for it, cutting di- 
agonally across the turf in the direction of the lower 
and more indented northern side. 

Only two hasty bullets sped in the track of the fu- 
gitive. Maurice Tyars vainly called on those who had 
gone round to the cliffs to cut him off. 

But he had not to deal with men of any desperate 
courage, and the aspect of Raith Ellison, his shirt and 
sleeves spotted with blood, a knife in one hand and a 
horse-pistol in the other, was certainly disquieting. 
Instead of closing in, the men who had been sent 
along the northern side, cleared out at sight of him as 
fast as they could. 

Tyars himself, however, with Old George (now on 
his mettle with anger and jealousy) were already close 
behind. It was as much as Raith could do to cross 
the little plain of birds’ nests to the edge of the crags 
before the fusillade began again more furiously than 
before. 

Tyars, who now took the command in spite of Old 
George, ordered the pursuers to spread out and take 
the fugitive on either flank. So step by step, Raith 
was driven back to the verge of the precipice. No 
further rush was tried, however, for some time, Tyars 
being the only man present with the courage to face 
that deadly double-barrelled pistol. 


THE MUTINY UPON THE BASS 163 

But at last, by dint of climbing and crawling face to 
the rock, one after another of the garrison appeared 
to right and left of him, some higher up and able to 
direct a raking fire without exposing an eyebrow — 
others beneath, but within easy range, a position from 
which the dropping fire of their old-fashioned musket- 
00ns and firelocks was hardly less dangerous. 

Raith glanced behind him to make out his position. 
He was on Hughie’s cliff. A few steps more and he 
would be driven to the verge. As a reminder a mus- 
ket ball clipped the toe of his boot and stung him like 
a knock on the funny bone. This made him angry. 
He bent and removed his boots, making up his mind 
to what was before him. 

At the same moment Tyars, seeing his prey hard- 
pushed, tried a rush, signalling those to the east and 
west to close in upon him. Raith stood erect, fired 
the two barrels of his pistol into the advancing crowd, 
and saw the Englishman fling up his hands suddenly 
and fall forward. Then dashing his empty pistol in 
the face of his nearest assailant who rushed at him 
with uplifted sword, he took a short run, and sprang 
off Hughie’s cliff into the sea. 

The mutiny upon the Bass was at an end. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE DEIL’s back-kitchen 

Out on the still sea water, scarcely rocking, lay the 
fishing boat of Prayerful Peter. Needless to say the 
owner was not on board. But on a pile of nets, prone 
in the stern, his hand on a guiding oar and his eyes 
just above the gunwale, lay the Long Body of John of 
that Ilk. He was close in under the freeboard, and 
all but the sharpest observers might have thought the 
little fishing craft wholly empty. 

But Long-bodied John was by no means blind. 
The interest of these little puffs of smoke seen mount- 
ing from the light grey turf of the Bass, and the white 
jets springing from behind the rocks had drawn him 
as near as he dared to go — which in this case was 
much nearer than if Captain Grif had been in com- 
mand, when a cannon ball plumping within twenty 
yards of his bows would most likely have conveyed a 
hint that a nearer approach had better not be at- 
tempted. 

But John knew that those on the Bass that day 
were far too busy to think of his fishing boat with 
only an oar trailing over the stern, and a little bushing 
of sail hardly bigger than a man’s coat spread out in 
the bows to give her steering-way. 

Long-bodied John was so near that he could hear 
the rattle of musketry, and now and then the hoarse 
cries of the men as they encouraged each other. The 
sharper and faster spit-spit of Raith’s pistols, he could 
not distinguish. But when at the last he saw the 


THE DEIL’S BACK-KITCHEN 


165 


young man’s body cleave the air for a’ the world like 
a solan divin’ for herrin’ ” he knew very well what had 
happened. 

“ And he can soom, the tum-coat,” he grumbled, 
watching the swimmer, “ faith, he has focht them a’ — 
aye, and I am prood to think that he has left some 
sair heids up yonder on the Bass, for a’ their silly rin- 
nin’ and crying. There he gangs — guid be wi’ him, 
turn-coat or no !” 

He watched the figure of Raith pass under the 
cliffs evidently looking for some cavern or place of 
temporary refuge. Farther out but sufficiently distant 
from the boat the water was lashed white with the 
bullets which still rained from above. 

Silly deevils, — whatna hairm do they think they 
are doin’ him by the like o’ that ? ” grumbled John, 
“ what a waste o’ guid powder and shot ! Mony a 
worthless seefer micht hae been weel oot o’ his suffer- 
ing gin that lead had it been pitten to a better use ! 
But where’s he makin’ for noo } Oh, if I could but 
tell him o’ Francie’s Nest, or the Tunnel ! But he’ll 
never find them hissel’ — Ah, but he has manned it. 
That’s the nook that they caa Hell’s Back-kitchen — 
ane awesome place when there is a storm frae off the 
norr’ard. But he is gye and safe there for this nicht, 
and I’m no sayin’ — renigate as he is — John Paton 
never let a man perish when he could help it. And 
for the sake o’ — We-Ken-Wha — the lass ower by 
yonder that’s sae chief wi’ the mither and sister 
o’ him — I’ll e’n find him a cosier shelter than that 
cauld crawly dreepin’ hole — Ech, aye, man John, 
but its wonderfu’ what ane will do for the sake o’ a 
lass ! ” 

Long-bodied John directed his boat’s prow away 
from the Isle with a couple of sweeps of his long 
steering-oar. He saw that the men of the garrison, 
eager in the pursuit of Raith, were manning the boats 


i66 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

to make the circuit of the rock. His lip curled scorn- 
fully. 

^‘There’s never a man o’ them that’s fit to handle a 
boat,” growled Long John, ‘‘they darena gang near 
the rock for the surf, a’ but Alhster and his cousins, 
and I’se answer for them ! ” 

The shrewd one of the Long Body proved to be 
right. The boats were indeed put out from the land- 
ing place, but as they were mere cockle shells for size, 
as was necessary, seeing that they had to be lifted 
bodily out of the water and swung out of the reach of 
the waves by a small crane erected for the purpose, 
those in them did not venture close into the cliffs. 

“Aye, yonder’s Allister,” said Long-bodied John, 
narrowing his eyes till the pupils became mere specks, 
after the manner of seafaring folk, “ I can see his arm 
wag-waggin’. I’ll wager noo he is tellin’ them that 
the lad’s to a certainty drooned, and that it’s a mere 
riskin’ o’ life and limb to gang farther in to seek for 
him — ^whilk wad be true eneuch if the wind were to 
tak a wee turn into the North.” 

He watched the boats pass along between him and 
the steep bare cliffs. 

“ Noo,” he exclained, “they are brave and het. Lord, 
will they never gang on. What’s Allister thinkin’ 
aboot.? There’s the airm up again. He is layin’ it aff 
grand. Ye wad think he was Maister Peden himsel’ 
at a sacrament — the useless loon. What for does he 
no put his back into the oar, and gang on ! Ah, that’s 
better ! ” 

“ Crackle ! Crackle ! ” went a volley of musketry, 
and the smoke rose from the boat side. 

“ Losh, sirs, they hae gotten him,” said Long-bodied 
John — “ waes me ! What for could he no hae keep it 
closer doon ? But no, it’s only the silly ignorant car- 
les firing away the King’s poother and shot at the geese 
and Tammie-Nories ! Praise the Lord for the fools 


THE DEIL’S BACK-KITCHEN 167 

that are on the earth. For assuredly He hath sent 
great plenty o’ them to the Bass ! ” 

Very anxiously all that day Long-bodied John 
watched the wind. Certain fine-combed mares’ tails 
flicking longer and thinner out of the north filled him 
with uneasiness. Also as the day began to close in, 
a clear greenish light in the sky strengthened his 
fear. 

The boats retired after having in vain made the cir- 
cuit of the Isle. The men, evidently glad to have the 
place to themselves, scrambled about the rock in twos 
and threes wantonly firing off their guns among the 
home-returning solans and sea-mews. 

“ Thae puir lads in the barred cells,” said Long- 
bodied John, guid peety them this nicht — by their 
lone selves and siccan a crew to deal wi’ ! ” 

But he himself had something on his own mind. 
He dared not trust his uncle with the secret. Peter 
and he were good enough partners on most occasions, 
but there were times when the nephew kept his own 
counsel most carefully. This was one of them. He 
did not believe that Prayerful Peter would have sold 
the escaping Raith to his enemies on the Bass. Nev- 
ertheless a quiet tongue never did a man any harm in 
this world, so far as Long-bodied John had seen. So 
he sat silent at the evening meal in the cottage, and 
only went off to his vigil under the rock a little earlier 
than usual. 

He had been right in his prognostication. The wind 
was indeed rising out of the north, beaconed by the 
clear emerald light, and in an hour or two the Deil’s 
Back-kitchen would be no desirable place of residence, 
or even house of call. 

Yet John dared not hasten. The gloaming must 
come first. There might be spies on the Island. His 
uncle would certainly be watching from the cave above 
the hut in Cantie Bay. With a heart that yearned 


i68 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


towards the poor fugitive (though set against his double 
estate of “ runnagate ” and “ red sodjer ”) John watched 
the white waves crawl and snatch and whiten along 
the black gully where he knew Raith Ellison to be in 
hiding. 

At last a heavy cloud, rising sullenly over the Fife 
Lomonds and the distant coast, banking up in ridge 
behind ridge of crenellations, gave John courage to 
approach. It was a dangerous piece of work at best. 
The wind was now blowing straight in shore, and he 
was risking both his boat and his life close to the most 
dangerous cliffs of the Island. But John of the Long 
Body thought nothing of that. He did as much 
every night of his life, and for less than a man’s 
safety. 

He ran the boat in towards the Bass, till the loom 
of the cliff was imminent overhead, and then, turning 
the boat sideways to keep steerage way on her, he 
shouted at the pitch of his voice, “ Raith Ellison, I am 
a friend — Long John Baton. Strip and swim out to 
me, I can come no nearer.” 

Raith heard, but indistinctly. The rising tempest 
had already begun to send the waves roaring into his 
retreat, and he could easily see that the tide had only 
to rise to a certain height before he must be drowned. 
Moreover, as the water sucked away towards the nar- 
row entrance of the Deil’s Back-kitchen, it gave him 
an ugly suggestion of irresistible power, though no 
more than his foot and ankle had been seized. Raith 
felt, for the first time in his life, what he had not ex- 
perienced even on Hughie’s rock, the sense of being 
trapped and taken. 

But he heard the voice faintly, and each time that 
the boat passed and repassed he caught Long John 
Baton’s message more clearly. At first he thought, 
“ Can I trust him ? ” But when the next wave came 
through the narrow black passage, fringed with phos- 


THE DEIL’S BACK-KITCHEN 169 

phorescent foam, and sucked more powerfully about 
his knees, he felt that his question was answered. 

“ I must trust him ! ” he said. 

And with his usual simple resolution, Raith made 
ready for the dive. It was a summer night and the 
wind whistled keen as Raith Ellison stripped to the 
skin, stood a moment, and drew in a long breath before 
plunging into the turmoil of waters. He knew very 
well that he must go deep, and swim a long distance 
under water before he could hope to be clear of the 
dangerous passage which was the only way out of the 
Deil’s Back-kitchen. 

Once he failed. He felt a check. His side scraped 
the smooth rock far below. He had misjudged his 
time. The slow heave of the incoming wave frustrated 
his effort. It raised him, in spite of himself, to the 
surface. His shoulder struck the sharp angle of the 
rock, and the sting of the salt water told him that he 
was wounded. He was back again at the place from 
which he had started. 

There came a great g-y-oo-w of wind which almost 
beat him flat against the cliff. 

“ Now or never,” he said, “ Raith Ellison, you are a 
dead man unless you can do it this time ! ” 

He waited only for the incoming wave, dived into 
the turbulent bubbling slack of the water, and struck 
out strongly. The sea felt chill about him— it was 
velvety black also. He must be, he knew, very deep. 
On — on ! there was no motion as of tossing, only a 
hush about his ears. He was coming to the surface. 
The arm of a rough sea coat was about him. In a 
moment or two he was lying exhausted in the bottom 
of a boat, covered with Long-bodied John’s own cloak, 
as they bore triumphantly away towards Cantie Bay. 
There would be no messages let down from the cliff 
that night, or at least, thought John, no boat to take 
them. The storm was rising fast, and the sooner he 


170 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


was within the little land-bound anchorage of Cantie 
Bay, the better it would be for him. 

But what was he to say to his uncle. It was clear 
that Raith Ellison must be taken to the cave — the cave 
up among the rocks under the foundations of Tantallon. 
But there must be no word breathed about an escaping 
soldier of dragoons, coadjutor of Captain Grif, sus- 
pended and perhaps imprisoned by the King’s Privy 
Council. 

As for Raith he lay most of the way unconscious. 
But when at last they got behind the lee of a little 
island, the one furthest to the east going seaward, the 
water became less troubled, and Long-bodied John, 
who was prepared for most of the emergencies which 
confront those who go down to the sea in ships, pro- 
duced a flask of good Bordeaux cognac and made his 
passenger drink a stiff tass of it. 

Now, listen,” he said, I am risking my own life 
by this, Raith Ellison. Ye ken that. My uncle must 
not be told who you are. Ye are an Ellison — a pris- 
oner escaped from the Bass ! Mind ye that. He has 
only seen you in your soldier’s coat and at a distance. 
Peter Paton does not come to the landing-place o’ the 
Bass oftener than he can help. Sae, if you canna tell 
a lee, keep your mouth shut and let me do it for ye. 
Understand — you are a Covenant man, an Hebrew o’ 
the Hebrews, and we are gaun to hide ye in the cave. 
I will talk to my uncle. I ’ll chairge mysel’ wi’ ony 
lees that hae to be telled ! ” 

The boat came in rapidly. Prayerful Peter was 
there, waiting in the darkness to make all fast. 

“ What have you got there, John he said, as he 
handled the rope. His nephew stooped and whispered 
in his ear. 

“ Well, better say nothing — for the present,” grum- 
bled Peter, ‘‘it ’s an awkward job — one son up in Edin- 
burgh making acquaintance wi’ the thumbikins, and 


THE DEIL’S BACK-KITCHEN 171 

another dead ahint the dyke. There will be a good 
price to lift for a’ this danger and risk — besides dam- 
age to my boat in sic a storm. And sae I will tell my 
Lord Kenmure when him and me settles accoonts.” 

For many of the nobility and gentry of Scotland, 
men who themselves took no part in open rebellion 
against the King, had formed an association, amply 
furnished with money, to aid threatened persons to 
escape to Holland or Ireland, and to sustain them with 
money while in exile there. And for his services, 
which were undoubtedly valuable. Prayerful Peter re- 
ceived excellent emoluments — chiefly, as he said, by 
means of my Lord Kenmure, when he came into that 
country to visit his friend, the Earl of Haddington. 

Prayerful Peter was no ill hearted man in the main, 
but, as his nephew said, “ the world had set a sore 
grappling iron in him.” 

He did much good by stealth, which he would have 
blushed to find fame, but he had no objection to find 
the waters return his bread as minted gold. He was 
true to his own party, perhaps would have been so 
even without interested reasons. But, as his nephew 
shrewdly calculated, it was as well not to present Raith 
Ellison to Peter Paton as a penniless exile cast off by 
both parties in the state, disowned by his own father, 
and pursued to the death by Peter’s excellent custom- 
ers, the present garrison of the Bass. 

Raith slept soundly that night. Hot brandy and 
water, a comfortable bed, made up of webs of Flan- 
ders cloth, a bundle of Valenciennes lace for his pil- 
low, two or three sea cloaks for a covering, and the 
shut door of the cave beneath the brow of Tantallon 
made no such despicable lodging and entertainment 
for a man who had spent the morning in being shot at 
and the afternoon in the Deil’s Back-kitchen. 

He woke more than once during the night, and lis- 
tened to the howling of the storm without. But the 


172 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


fumes of the cognac were still in his brain, and he 
only turned over on his side and slept — slept till Long- 
bodied John, his morning duty at the Bass done, flung 
the door suddenly wide, and let in the sun of noonday 
upon the startled sleeper. 


CHAPTER XXV 


IN TANTALLON CAVE 

Prayerful Peter and his nephew slowly ascended 
the cliff by the long detour which they had discovered. 
This by concealed and secret ways led finally to the 
cave. At intervals Prayerful Peter shook his head and 
groaned, walking ever more slowly. 

I’m nane sae sure aboot this wark,” he said, look- 
ing over his shoulder at his nephew, “ there will be an 
awesome din in the countryside — a prisoner breakin’ 
frae His Majesty’s ain prison o’ the Bass. Saw ye ony 
hullabaloo yesterday ? ” 

There was a heap o’ blaffin’ awa’ o’ poother,” said 
Long-bodied John, honestly, “ but, as far as I saw, to 
but little purpose. The governor’s awa’ in Edinburgh, 
and there is neither head nor tail to the business ower 
yonder.” 

Peter Paton stood pondering a moment, rolling the 
quid of tobacco in his cheek which he always placed 
there on leaving the cottage. 

“Aye, aye,” he meditated, half to himself, “ dootless 
that will be it. The cat’s awa’ — the mice will play ! 
Aweel, the lad will hae to bide a while up in the heuch 
yonder. That will cost siller, though I suppose he had 
nane on him when ye got him oot o’ the water ? ” 

“ He hadna as muckle as a stitch o’ cleading on his 
body,” said his nephew grimly, “ man, Peter, he dived 
oot o’ the jaws o’ the Deil’s Back-kitchen, wi’ the wind 
i’ the north ! So I canna see where he could carry 
muckle siller.” 


174 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


‘‘Aweel, he’s o’ the stock,” continued Peter, “ the 
auld Ellison stock — Simpsons by the mither o’ them. 
There’s siller there on baith sides, and Dan’l ower at 
Barnston Mains is guid for a handfu’ o’ thoosands ony 
day. Dan’l will-na see a puir man wranged that has 
perilled his life and property for the Guid Cause. Na, 
na. I can trust Dan’l ! ” 

They were within a couple of hundred yards of the 
cave when Prayerful Peter suddenly resolved that he 
would lie up that day in Cobbs’ Hole, another of their 
hiding-places some distance on the other side of Tan- 
tallon. 

“ What’s the use o’ mair nor ane o’ us trailin’ up the 
road to the cave,” he said, ** and guid kens wha may be 
spyin’. That puir lad there is in danger o’ his neck, 
and a’ them that’s connectit wi’ him will be in the same 
condemnation. It’s surely enough that yin o’ us should 
rin the risk ” 

“ Indeed, then, I weel ken what ane that will be ! ” 
said Long-bodied John with a secret grin. 

Prayerful Peter raised another long sigh of relief 
from his breast as if by machinery. 

Ye are a fine lad, Lang John Paton,” he said, “ and 
if I should dee afore ye, ye shall receive the reward o’ 
your faithfulness. Aye, that will ye ! ” 

** But in the meantime,” muttered John to himself, 
“ ye tak’ precious guid care that ye will be blythe and 
hearty even if I should swing in a tow ! ” 

He opened the door of the cave on the rock and 
went in. It was, as aforesaid, the high tide of noon, 
and Raith sat up, suddenly blinded, on his bed of 
Flanders cloth. Long-bodied John pitched him a 
shirt, a pair of stockings, sea-boots, and a fisherman’s 
knitted vest. “ Try on thae things ! ” he said, I’m 
thinkin’ nane o’ them will be ower sma’ for ye, and if 
onything needs a reef ta’en up, there’s some thread and 
a sail-needle in the locker yonder.” 


IN TANTALLON CAVE 


175 


In spite of the nondescript nature of his attire it was 
not long before Raith stood up tall and handsome, and 
when his host had flung a pailful of spring water over 
his lodger’s head, he watched him rubbing the close 
curls dry with a towel. 

“ Dod,” he said to himself, “ he’s a good-lookin’ 
blake — deil thrive him ! ” 

And somehow he was glad that it was not at the 
cottage down yonder in the curve of Cantie Bay that 
Raith was to have his abode. For though to all ap- 
pearance John did not raise his eyes twice a-day to 
Ivie’s face, yet a great and sudden worship of the girl’s 
beauty had arisen in his heart. 

“ And it wad be a gye cross-grained affair gin I was 
to save a lass’s life, look at her till my e’en were fair 
dazzled wi’ the bonny face o’ her, and then draw 
anither lad oot o’ the self-same water to tak’ her awa* 
frae me ! ” 

As Long John communed thus with himself, he was 
seated on an upturned basket of wattled willow. The 
thoughts which ran through his brain were not pleas- 
ant to Long John Baton. 

He remembered now the scofflngs of the soldiers at 
the Lobster-back, concerning his favour at the gover- 
nor’s house. What if he should also have gained 
favour with the governor’s daughter. He resolved 
that he would fish for information, and if possible dis- 
cover what were the feelings of Raith towards pretty 
Mistress Ivie, his uncle’s guest down at the cottage in 
the bay. 

Raith rolled up his sleeves and began to fill the toes 
of the boots with straw, whistling the while. His host 
had set on a goblet of porridge to boil on the clear 
charcoal fire which the Batons used for their small 
spirit still. Raith had begun to feel the faintness of 
hunger. 

It was not till the platter of porridge and milk had 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


176 

been disposed of, and Long-bodied John was busy 
frying a freshly-caught flounder, that the conversation 
engaged. 

“It would be a sore time that ye had o’ it at the 
Bass } ” queried John, sprinkling dry meal on the 
spattering fish. 

Raith nodded with his mouth full of bread and 
butter. 

“ I saw them huntin’ ye like a hare yesterday,” he 
went on, “ their guns were cracking like a joiner 
knockin’ in nails in a puir man’s coffin. It is a Quid’s 
mercy ye are here to tell the tale ! ” 

“Yes,” said Raith, carelessly, “the rascals did hunt 
me close, but at least I had a double-barrelled horse- 
pistol and for a while I gave as good as I got or per- 
haps something better.” 

“ Ony buryings amang them, think ye?” 

“ That I cannot say,” smiled Raith, well-pleased 
enough with himself, “ but I saw at least two go down 
like sacks of corn.” 

“ Losh,” said Long-bodied John, “dinna tell my 
uncle that. He is a man great for peace. And be- 
sides if they baith dee, that will be twa less rations to 
be sent to the Bass, and so a loss to his pocket ! Na, 
say naething to him.” 

“ I have not seen your uncle this morning,” Raith 
interrupted, “ to say either one thing or another to 
him.” 

He thought it curious that his chief host should 
appear so little. 

Long-bodied John coughed suggestively. 

“ Young man,” he said, “ ye are verra snug where 
ye are. If I were you, I wad lie up here weel con- 
tent. I can answer for your welcome. But I canna 
promise ye ony great wale o’ visitors and even my 
uncle may keep oot o’ the road. He has mony things 
on his mind, ye see ! ” 


IN TANTALLON CAVE 


177 


** And you ? ” inquired Raith, looking up at the ill- 
proportioned figure before him with the glint of sleepy 
humour in the eyes. The long fisherman clasped his 
neck suggestively with both hands. 

“ A risk mair or less mak’s little difference to John 
Paton,” he said, “ he is fairly deep in as it is ! Reset- 
ting rebels and intercommuning wi’ them — that’s the 
Grassmarket and the hangman, as a’ body kens ! ” 

Then he recurred to the Bass again. 

“ Was there no a lass on the rock ” he inquired, 
with apparent indifference, “ I heard it said that Peden 
cursed her, and that she was blawn awa’ into the sea 
as a judgment for mocking at him. There wad benae 
truth in that, I daresay.” 

“ None,” cried Raith, indignantly, “ Mr. Peden 
spoke ever kindly to her. These are only the lies of 
my brother Beattie. He could never speak the thing 
that is, all his days. And now, I doubt not, he is ly- 
ing his best before the Privy Council of Edinburgh.’* 

“ The lass would be a great miss to you on the 
Bass,” suggested Long-bodied John, ** her father 
would mourn her sore ! ” 

“ She was the world to him ! ” said Raith, sadly 
enough — “all he had.” 

“ And you ? ” queried Long John Paton. Raith 
glanced up almost angrily. But catching the wistful 
look on his host’s face he relented. 

“ None could be in her company long without — 
loving her.” 

“Ye loved her then } ” 

“ Aye, and ever shall ! ” 

“ Why am I telling this to a stranger > ” Raith 
growled to himself. But aloud he said, “ She was 
very beautiful, but she neither cared for me nor for 
any man, except her father ! ” 

Long-bodied John nodded with conviction. 

“ It is true,” he said “she was bonny — bonny ayont 
12 


178 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


a’ words, but she lookit prood, I saw her a time or 
twa doon at the landing-place wi ’ her faither, waiting 
for me to fetch the letters in ! " 

Without another word he melted away down the cliff, 
going noiselessly in spite of his great sea-boots, and 
Raith was left alone with his mind working. He must 
see Grif Rysland on his way back, and warn him of what 
had taken place at the Bass. It never entered his 
head that that perfect soldier Captain Grif could be 
revoked of his functions. 

“ The Privy Council may be cruel to poor wander- 
ers,” he thought, “ but they cannot be altogether 
fools. Grif Rysland is worth an army ! ” 

Then his mind returning upon Grif’s daughter, it 
seemed to him that he could see her smile at him 
across the shining blue sea on which the northerly 
wind was bringing out short leaping surges of a daz- 
zling whiteness. The smile of the dead girl seemed 
to dazzle him. He saw Ivie as he had seen her stand 
that first day, ringed with the yellow of spring about 
her wrists and making a coronet for her rippling hair. 

How still seemed the rocky isle of the Bass to-day, 
set blue and hazy above its spreading plain of sea. 
Yesterday they had hunted him to take his life up 
across that pale greenish roof of turf, upon which to 
slip was to die. Desperately he had dived from these 
very cliffs into the sea, yet to-day he was safe in this 
shelter, waiting for he knew not what. His soldier- 
ing had come to a quick end. Grif Rysland had been 
called away, and who knew whether he would return 
any more to the Bass. 

But — with a sudden hope and an upspringing of pur- 
pose, Raith remembered his father. He was yonder, 
with Mr. Peden and quiet Gil in the power of the 
same men who had tried so hard to slay him. 

As he lay in the cave mouth there came from far 
the heavy, sullen detonation of cannon, one dull roar 


IN TANTALLON CAVE 


179 


following the other. He could not understand the 
possible purport of such firing. The Westland men 
could never be attacking Edinburgh as they had 
attacked Glasgow after Drumclog ! Raith lay and 
wondered rather lazily, caring little about the matter. 

Meanwhile Long John Paton carried his great body 
and dangling arms shamblingly down the cliff towards 
the cottage. He had seen from an angle of the path 
Ivie wandering out upon the shore. It seemed to him 
that he ought to warn her to keep closer in to the 
house. He felt that he owed this to his uncle’s inter- 
ests. But he had also a question or two to ask — that 
is, if Ivie’s smile did not reduce him to his usual va- 
cant inanity in her presence. The simple fellow could 
talk about her to his uncle. When alone he could 
devise the most wonderful conversations with Ivie 
Rysland. But when he found himself face to face 
with Ivie herself, he was reduced to a gruff manner 
and monosyllabic replies. 

Ivie was walking slowly to and fro on a strip of 
sand all ridged and rippled towards the sea, by the 
blowing of the wind from west to east. 

“ Mistress Ivie,” said Long-bodied John, with an 
awkward salutation, — there’s ae thing I wad like to 
say to ye — .” 

“ Only one, John,” smiled Ivie, who still retained a 
good deal of her ancient Eve, “ why I know many who 
would like as quiet a spot to say quite a number of 
things to me.” 

“ Davert,” thought John, nipping himself hard to 
provoke a repartee, “ I should ken an answer to that. 
It’s no the least use sayin’ <And so hae I ! ’ Forweel 
do I ken that Jock Paton could never get a word oot 
o’ him — stupid blockhead that he is. If she wad only 
keep her e’en aff me ! It’s the wee sparks in them 
that does for me ! ” 

Aloud he only remarked, “ Umph ! ” 


i8o THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

“ But you had one thing to say, at least,” suggested 
Ivie, “ you know you said so yourself ! Come — out 
with it. See, I am all in a tremble with suspense ! ” 

“ Did I no tell ye, Peter Paton,” Long John’s 
heart communed with itself, not un-rejoicefully, “ that 
she’s a’thegither different frae thae twa prood West 
country madams. I dinna think, after a’, that a man 
wad be muckle pestered wi’ brushes and besoms and 
washin’s in her hoose.” 

Then Ivie, clasping her hands and with eyes mock 
petitionary, begged that John would deliver his mes- 
sage. She excused herself to her own conscience by 
the promise to tell Marjory Simpson as soon as she 
went within. 

“ Weel,” said John, “ then the truth is that ye 
shouldna be walkin’ here in braid day if ye want to 
bide unkenned — as if ye were on the Bass wi’ a reid 
sodjer ahint ye to do your will.” 

Long-bodied John’s eyes glanced at Ivie’s face. 
There was a shade of thoughtful sadness upon it, which 
somehow took John by the throat. But his expression 
cleared at her next words. 

After all,” she said, softly, “ it is scarcely well- 
done of me to leave my father so long in the belief 
that I am drowned.” 

“ I’m thinkin’ he will hae to bide a wee langer with- 
oot kennin’ that ye are fit for your meal o’ meat,” said 
John drily. “At least till the Lords o’ the Privy Coun- 
cil hae dune wi’ him.” 

“ Do you mean that my father is no longer Gover- 
nor of the Bass } ” demanded Ivie, “ Speak out, man, 
say what you have to say clearly, as if you were speak- 
ing to a man.” 

“ As if he were speaking to a man ! ” That was a 
good idea, but John felt that in order to carry it out 
he must shut his eyes. 

“ Aye, then,” he said, taking courage “ it’s true as 


IN TANTALLON CAVE 


i8i 


preachin’, Captain Grif was sent for by the King’s 
Privy Council and has never corned back frae Edin- 
burgh.” 

“Do you mean,” cried Ivie “that they have any 
crime to accuse him of ? ” 

“ Dod,” said John, scratching his head, “it wasna 
my boat they took, and little do I ken aboot it. But 
they talk o’ a letter that the men o’ the garrison wrote, 
sayin’ that he was a spy, and a Whig, and gied wine 
to the puir lads in the cells, and something aboot 
stickin’ a man, a kind o’ laird. I’m thinkin’, doon i’ the 
sooth country.” 

“ I will go to him,” cried Ivie, “ I have been wicked, 
cruel, to stay so long ! ” 

“ Na, na,” said Long-bodied John, sitting down on 
a large boulder on the shore, “ ye are better bidin’ 
where ye are, till we hear mair aboot your faither. 
It’s me, ye see, that carries the news to and frae the 
Bass ilka day, as brawly ye ken. And if there’s any- 
thing to hear aboot your faither. I’m the man to hear 
it. It’s no for a young lass like you to rake the 
streets o’ Edinburgh by your lane. Na, na, ilka ane 
to his trade. Bide where ye are, lassie, amang the 
ither weemen folk and I’se bring ye speedy word — 
never fear.” 

“ And the dragoon, Raith Ellison,” said Ivie, after 
a pause, “did he accompany my father to Edin- 
burgh ? ” 

“ Captain Grif left him in command o’ the Bass,” 
said Long-bodied John, watching Ivie furtively, for he 
had come to the heart of the matter now, “ but I’m 
thinkin’ a poor job he was like to hae o’t. For they 
were a ragin’ at his heels yesterday, making the bul- 
lets whistle aboot his lugs — aye’ I was thinkin’ that ! ” 

Ivie’s face whitened as she listened. “ What a 
coward I was to stay away,” she said, “ when those 
who— who cared about me — were in trouble.” 


i 82 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Long-bodied John took hold of Ivie’s wrist with a 
curious compulsion, at once awkward and gentle. 

“Na, na,” he said, “bide ye, lassie, and hearken. 
Ye are a heap better where ye are, and your faither 
too will be glad when he kens. It’s like this — when 
a man has a woman to think aboot in trouble, he canna 
daur and shoother and brange his way through, as he 
can when his hat covers his family. Believe me. Cap- 
tain Grif is the better able to stand up to the Edin- 
burgh Lord bodies, for no hae’ in’ a bonny young lass 
hingin’ to his coat-tails. And as for the lad yonder 
on the heuchs, I’m guessin’ that when he was keepin’ 
a dozen o’ them at bay wi’ an auld horse-pistol ahint 
a rock, he was gye and thankfu’ that ye had ta’en the 
the first loup aff Hughie’s Craig ! ” 

“ Do you mean that Raith Ellison fought the ras- 
cals yesterday > ” I vie asked, the little spark in her 
eyes kindling into a flame. 

“ I do that ! ” said Long-bodied John, “ I had but a 
puir opeenion o’ the lad afore — aye trottin’ after 
women folks* skirts — ” 

“ Women-folks } ” cried Ivie, speaking sharply. 

“ Weel then — yours. Mistress Rysland,” said John, 
sheepishly, “ my thick fisher’s tongue doesna aye get 
oot wi’ what I would hae it say ! ” 

“ Then they did not kill him } ” Ivie asked, a little 
breathlessly. 

“ Na, they didna,” answered Long John Baton, 
coolly, “but I’m thinkin’ there’s some o’ them that 
will be needin’ a hole or twa stoppit wi’ lint and oint- 
ment this momin’ ! ” 

“ Oh,” said Ivie, “ then I hope it is Old George Jex 
— that is, if it is anybody ! But Raith Ellison, how 
did he escape, and where is he now ? ” 

The countenance of the long-bodied fisherman lost 
its glow of intelligence. 

“ Eh, but,” he said, “ it wad tak’ wiser folk than me 


IN TANTALLON CAVE 


1B3 

to tell ye that. What I do ken is only that the lad 
won safe awa’ wi’ the life in him — though, they say, 
no wi’ muckle mair.” 

“ He will have gone to look for my father,” she 
meditated, “ heaven pity those poor rascals when Raith 
Ellison and my father come back ! ” 

John did not tell her that, by the common report, 
it was little likely that either of them would ever set 
foot on the Bass again as soldier of the King. As 
I vie and Jock went towards the house they met Pray- 
erful Peter with the laden look of one who has heavy 
tidings to divulge. Long John Paton stared to see 
him about the shore at that hour of the day. 

“Are you not afraid that the soldiers will grip ye } ” 
he demanded of his uncle generally so fearful. 

“ The sodjers will hae something else to think of,” 
replied the elder. “ The blow has fallen. The man 
of iniquity has filled up his cup to the brim. The 
King is Dead ! ” 

They were dumb for a moment. From the far dis- 
tance, beyond the fog in which lay Edinburgh, came 
again the throb of that distant cannonade. 

“ They are proclaiming the new King,” said Long- 
bodied John, “ the Papist James. Lord send we may 
mak’ a better of it ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 

Long-bodied John’s incomplete tale of the peril 
and escape of Raith did not at all satisfy Ivie Rysland. 
The news of the death of one king and of the acces- 
sion of another did not concern her, nor did she con- 
sider what effect the event might have on the fate of 
her father. Grif Rysland had always kept her with 
his sword, and though she desired and had perhaps 
found another way — the Way of Loving Woman — yet 
the ties of blood proclaimed themselves strongly so 
soon as she knew of her father’s danger. 

Nor did Marjory Simpson forbid. She was a wise 
woman and knew that blood held to blood at the end. 

“ Bairn,” she said, the fisher lad was right. Bide 
— it’s little good ye could do your father. The Lord 
will deliver him in his time. I have over yonder two 
— one in Edinburgh, in as perilous a plight as your 
father — besides Raith, out there on the Bass, with the 
livery of the oppressor on his back.” 

“ He is not there — they have chased him away. 
He has escaped out of their hands.” 

The news came from Ivie’s lips like a cry so sud- 
denly that Euphrain drifting silently in, as was her 
wont, stood amazed before them. Marjory Simpson 
had risen, her grey hair tossed back with a sudden 
gesture. There was a fierce and eager look on her 
face. 

“ What — ? ” she cried, “ what do you say ? That 
he has left them ? Tell me all.” 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 


185 


And when Ivie told her all she had gathered from 
unwilling Jack Paton Marjory Simpson broke into a 
torrent of glad tears. 

“ A mother’s prayers are not in vain — no, not in 
vain,” she said. “Oh, how I have prayed, black 
black nights and long.” 

“ But,” said Ivie, by no means so satisfied, “ I do 
not know what is become of him — or even if he has 
reached any place of safety.” 

His mother swept aside the objection with her hand. 
It had no weight with her. 

“ Death is nothing — ”, she said, “ It is life in an ill 
service that kills the soul. Now he will be spared to 
come back to his own again. He will seek the Way. 
I, an unworthy servant, thank the Lord for an an- 
swered prayer.” 

And from that it was impossible to move her. 
Raith might be wounded, dying, dead — no matter. He 
had cast their bonds from him and come forth. He 
had left his mark on the enemy. 

“ I think it was my father’s horse-pistol,” said Ivie, 
practically. And lo, such was the power of a cove- 
nanting mother’s love that even Grif Rysland became 
instantly glorified by the fact. 

“ It may be — I cannot be sure of anything, save of 
the Lord’s unfailing mercies,” she said, “ but some- 
how it keeps coming up in my mind that by means of 
your father we shall yet all be saved — aye, and he 
with us.” 

Euphrain gave a little shudder. It tried her sorely 
to hear her mother speak well of malignants, and espe- 
cially of the man who had first led her brother astray. 

Ivie caught a little piece of Valenciennes lace 
about her head, a present from Long Jock in one of 
his hours of unwonted expansion. 

“ Hae ! ” he had said, “ that’s an odd bit. Tak’ it. 
It’s nae use ! ” 


186 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But Ivie with natural taste had made use of it to throw 
round her shoulders at night when she went wander- 
ing on the shore, or to shade her head from the sun 
in the daytime. Then Long-bodied John, his eyes 
twinkling with pleasure at his own shrewdness, mur- 
mured within himself over and over, “That’s fell 
bonny ! It was me that gied it to her ! ” 

And the repetition would make him happy for all 
day. 

Down on the shore Ivie found no one. She wanted 
to see Jock, in order to talk to him again. She would 
even havo been grateful for Prayerful Peter, but that 
worthy lay up in Cobbs’ Hole on the other side of Tan- 
tallon, and rarely appeared near Cantie Bay except 
for meals. 

Ivie looked under her hand this way and that, scan- 
ning the cliffs for any signs of life. Nothing was to 
be seen. Then it came to her that she must get to 
some place from which she could see the Bass. Per- 
haps — it was just possible — she might be able to see 
something of Raith Ellison — a boat with a single fugi- 
tive, any thing to take the edge off her apprehension 
of bloodshed and death. 

She mounted the grassy heuchs diagonally, picking 
the easiest way and the same time remembering Long 
Jock’s admonitions to keep herself well concealed. 
Up and up she went, the great blue-grey pyramid of 
rock out in the Firth rising with her till at last she 
could see the white lines of the fortifications and even 
the tiny jutting spar of the crane, no bigger than a 
perch in a bird-cage. All seemed quiet. There was 
no jetting smoke that day about the rocks. Not a 
soul was moving. Even the birds were strangely still. 

A little higher and she would be able to see the 
landing-place. Perhaps the soldiers of the garrison 
had manned the boats and were still in pursuit. She 
mounted slowly, her eyes seaward. 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 


187 


******** 

** God in his heaven — Ivie ! ” 

She turned at the words, and there at a cave’s mouth 
stood Raith, pale as death, his hand on his heart as if 
about to faint on the spot. He leaned against the 
rough rock-lintel. She took a step or two forward. 
He put out his hand involuntarily as if toward her off. 

‘‘You — have come back,” he gasped, “you have a 
message — for me ! ” 

Ah, she had forgotten ! Of course he had long 
thought of her as dead. To him she must appear as 
a spirit. But with the quick instinct of the loving 
woman she did the right thing to reassure him. 

She laughed — a clear, rippling laugh that showed 
her milk-white teeth. Then she held out her hand 
frankly as if she had bidden him goodnight only twelve 
hours before. 

“ Do you think you are the only one who can jump 
into the sea from Hughie’s rock, and be the better of 
it ? ” she cried, gaily. 

He stood still, speechless, till persuaded by the 
warm touch of her hand that she was indeed no spirit. 

“Well, since I am here,” she continued, “have you 
nothing to say to me } Or would you rather go down 
at once and see your mother and Euphrain } ” 

“ My mother and Euphrain ? ” he gasped once more. 
Ivie smiled again, less brilliantly, but perhaps more 
sweetly. 

“ My mother too now,” she said, “ she has been 
willing to adopt me ! ” 

Ah, it was delightful to Raith to hear her say that. 
Yet — wait — if she had had any thought of him, would 
she have spoken like that ? Discouraged and gloomy 
he looked about him, avoiding her eyes. 

“ Where are they > ” he asked baldly. She pointed 
downward with her hand. “ There,” she said, “ in the 
cottage in Cantie Bay ! ” 


i88 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ And did that long fellow Baton know — the man 
who brought me here ? ” he inquired. 

‘‘Certainly,” said Ivie, “it is his uncle’s house. We 
cook their meals and keep the house clean.” 

“Ah,” said Raith, “ I must think about this. He 
never told me, either about my mother — or about 
you !” 

“ That,” said the girl, “ was doubtless his uncle’s 
orders. They would know that you had been a sol- 
dier, and as your mother and Euphrain are staying 
here to assist the escape of the prisoners, it would be 
their policy to keep you apart.” 

“ It may be,” said Raith, “ but I think there was 
something else too.” 

At which the girl smiled secretly, for Long-bodied 
Jock’s adoration was, of course, an old story to her. 

Raith and she sat down on the little worn seat 
within the arch of the Cove, but without the door. 

“ You do not tell me how you came to be saved } ” 
he said, after a pause. 

“ I thought you knew,” she answered, “ it was Long 
John Baton who fished me out of the water beneath 
Hughie’s Craig. Why, did he not tell you.?” 

“ He never whispered a word of the matter, even 
though he did as much for me ! ” 

“ It seems, then,” she went on, “ that both of us 
owe our lives to him ! ” 

“ Not only our lives,” Raith exclaimed, generously, 
“ but clothing, shelter, food — which makes it all the 
stranger why he should wish to keep us apart ! ” 

“ Does it ” she said meekly, fixing her dark eyes 
upon him. Men were so alike to her, so vain, yet so 
simple. 

But there was something daunting in Ivie’s eyes, 
something arresting, tempting, intoxicating, not long 
to be endured unmoved. 

Impulsively Raith caught her in his arms. 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 189 

You kissed me once,” he said, hoarsely, ** for the 
sake of my father, you said.” 

He had got so far when a voice interrupted, “ So 
now you would kiss Ivie for the sake of her father ! 
Well, he will save you the trouble, young man. He 
will kiss her himself.” 

They looked up, and there quite near them in a 
plain dark suit and burgher’s hat, but with his long 
sword still by his side, stood Grif Rysland, humour- 
ously smiling. Ivie fell rather than threw herself into 
his arms. 

“ Father,” she said, I am so sorry ! Forgive me!” 

He affected to make light of the whole matter. 

“Sorry,” he cried, patting her shoulder, “what — 
sorry that this young man did not have time to carry 
out his intentions } Well, he is young. Who can say 
what may yet be before him.” 

“But how did you find — usf'" she hesitated over 
the pronoun, which told so much, at least to Raith, 
“ I only found him quite by chance I ” 

“ I saw you go up the cliff,” said Grif Rysland, “so 
I followed you.” 

“ But you thought I was drowned — ah, it was so 
wicked of me I Only I could not help it.” 

“Girls seldom can,” he said, “when there is only 
their fathers to think of. But to ease your mind, 
there’s an old fellow not far away who can sit leg on 
each side of the dyke with any man, who kept my 
mind easier than you might have thought. It took 
some gold pieces out of a poor soldier’s pouch to do 
it, but still, I will not say it was not worth it.” 

Prayerful Peter had seen his way to an extra profit, 
by privately assuring the Governor of the Bass of his 
daughter’s safety in return for the payment for that 
daughter’s board, which he thus received in double. 
Heaven made a point of blessing Peter’s basket and 
store. 


190 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** I heard that you were very happy — with the de- 
vout ! ” said Grif. Ivie’s face fell, more at the tone 
than at the words. 

“ Do not laugh, father,” she said quickly. “ I have 
changed my mind about many things. And so will 
you, when you see and know.” 

He smiled, but did not laugh any more. His eyes 
were even sad. 

“ I am old and tough,” he said, “ I do not change 
my mind easily. A stout heart, a good sword, an easy 
wrist, and a keen eye will take a man through most 
things. The rest is mostly for women.” 

** Why are you dressed like this ? ” she said, rub- 
bing her fingers over the plain dark cloth of his coat, 
— “ not even a tassel to your sword hilt } Wait till I 
get down. I will make you a beauty ! ” 

I think not,” he said, I must go afield to seek 
some other service. I am no longer Governor of the 
Bass, nor yet soldier of the King. I have gotten both 
fee and leave. Moreover, Charles the King is dead, 
and to James his brother I owe no loyalty ! ” 

“ You are not a soldier, father ? ” exclaimed I vie. 
scarcely believing her ears. 

** I did not say so,” he answered, ** I shall remain 
a soldier till I die. I am only out of work, that is all. 
I owe no allegiance to any man.” (He turned to 
Raith at this point.) “ But how came here, 
and in these togs, Mr. Interim-Governor of the 
Bass .? ” 

Grif Rysland listened while Raith told his tale. 
His eyes grew cold and hard as he nodded quickly at 
each point — the conspiracy to kill Raith as he returned 
through the main guard, the escape over the slippery 
short grass of the plateau, the long afternoon chase, 
the shooting, the closing in and gradual forcing over 
the cliffs. 

“And what had you to defend yourself ? ” Grif de- 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 


191 

manded suddenly. His lips were tight closed and his 
jaw grim. His face was not now pleasant to see. 

“ Only the double-barrelled pistol you gave me,” 
said Raith. ** I fear I hurt one or two of them.” 

Fear, — ” cried Grif Rysland, “ heavens man, I 
hope you blew them to — ahem — Ivie ! I mean I hope 
that Raith did not miss his mark. Who were the 
black mutineers ? ” 

“ The Glasgow ‘ keely * and the Englishman,” said 
Raith. 

“ What, Tyars ? ” cried the ex-governor, “ I had 
thought better of him.” 

** So did I,” confessed Raith, but they would never 
have driven me to jump off Hughie’s rock but for 
him. They had not even brains enough to keep the 
higher ground and pepper me with no danger to 
themselves.” 

Ah ! ” said Grif, as if making a mental note, 
“ Tyars was it ? Very well, Tyars ! ” 

His daughter caught him by the arm. 

“ But father,” she said, “ you are never thinking of 
going back to that place ? They would kill you. 
They would never let you land — alone and without 
authority.” 

Her father smiled and patted her head. 

“ I have not yet made up my mind what I shall do,” 
he said. ** This young man and I will, I hope, live to 
do many things together. But if we do go to the Bass, 
these rascals shall not guess at the fact till we have 
them gripped as a terrier grips a rat.” 

After this Grif sat for some time silent, thinking, 
deeply, his eyes on the blue cone of the rock. 

“ For the present we will let all be as it is,” he said 
“ only I will go down with you to the cottage and you 
can introduce me to the Ellisons as your father. Nay, 
lad,” he said, his hand laid soothingly on Raith’s arm, 
“ I am no soldier of the King now and what I hear 


192 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


shall not be noted with an ear official. Perhaps — who 
knows — the outcome may be gladsome for all of us. 
For you, Raith boy, bide here where you are and say 
not that you have seen either father or daughter. The 
long-bodied fisher chap will say as little, or I am much 
mistaken. His tongue only wags when he wills.” 

“And sometimes not then ! ” interposed I vie, smil- 
ing with subtlety. 

And both the men wondered what she meant. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE SILVER-HILTED SWORD 

“ My father ! ” said Ivie Rysland with a gentle 
pride, introducing Grif to mother and daughter. They 
were in the small “ ben” room of the cottage, under 
the window, which, when opened on fine days as at 
present, revealed the glittering water, as far as the 
cliffs and skerries about Tantallon. 

Majory Simpson looked up with her habitual calm. 
Perhaps her face hardened a little, but the work of 
Euphrain fell to the ground. She carried her hand 
to her throat and a pallor overspread her counte- 
nance. No, it was not possible — this handsome man 
of stature a little above the middle, quietly dressed in 
dark cloth like any burgher or city merchant. (He 
had hung his sword up in the hall along with his hat.) 
His black hair, a little touched with gray, was gath- 
ered behind his head and tied with a broad band of silk 
in the Dutch fashion. There was a quiet respect 
and kindliness about him which neither woman had 
expected. 

The elder shook hands at once, but the younger 
put her hands behind her. No king’s soldier should 
touch the palm of Euphrain Ellison, even if he was 
disguised in a black coat. 

There was a moment’s awkwardness, and then Mar- 
jory Simpson spoke. 

“ We came hither to be near my husband and my 
sons in their prison on the Bass, of which I under- 
stand you are the governor. We should be glad to 

13 


194 the cherry ribband 

afford them what assistance we can. I trust there is 
no wrong ? ” 

Her voice shook a little. It would be hard if she 
were now to be sent back to Edinburgh, or cut off 
from all communication with her blind husband and 
her sons in their prison. 

“ Madam,” said Grif Rysland, “ have no fear. You 
have kept and succoured my daughter. For that I 
owe you more than a poor soldier can pay. It is true 
that I was for some time Governor of the Bass. Once 
too I was a soldier of the King. But now I am 
neither. The Privy Council relieved me of one 
office, and the King’s death delivered me from any 
oath of allegiance I had sworn. Now I am only a 
man, glad to have found my daughter and grateful 
for your care of her. I am sure this young lady’s so- 
ciety has been most comforting. Indeed it must 
have been, or Mistress Ivie would not have left me so 
long without news of her.” 

He looked at Euphrain as he spoke, a deep, quiet, 
penetrating gaze — full of kindliness and real grati- 
tude. Euphrain flushed under it. There was some- 
thing curiously disconcerting about this man’s eyes. 
She longed to be gone, and yet oddly enough she 
lingered. 

Every moment her mother expected her to break 
out against all who had favoured the persecution, but 
instead Euphrain sat down again at her mother’s 
feet, and silently resumed her work without looking 
up. 

“ I hear you have been to Edinburgh, Captain,” said 
Marjory Simpson. 

“ Call me Grif,” he said, “ that is plainest and best. 
I have presently no military title.” 

** Well then. Master Grif,” said Marjory, with her 
usual quiet readiness, “ heard you anything of my son 
Beattie since you went thither ? He was under your 


THE SILVER-HILTED SWORD 19$ 

care at the Bass, but the night before you went to 
Edinburgh he was carried off by King’s officers.” 

Grif nodded without a smile. 

** As to that I can relieve your mind,” he said, se- 
riously, “ I do not think he is in the slightest danger. 
And at present he is even released from his imprison- 
ment.” 

Euphrain glanced up quickly at her mother. 

“ Pray God he hath not denied the faith ! ” she said. 

Both the women looked at Grif Rysland as if he 
could answer the unspoken question. 

** I only know he was put to lodge with the officer 
of the Privy Chamber,” he said, guardedly, “ and also 
that there is no danger to his life — not so much indeed 
as to my own.” 

At his words the flush died out of Euphrain’s face 
and left it pale. She stole one quick glance at Grif 
Rysland, as if to find out if indeed he were telling all 
the truth. But he was still looking at her fixedly 
and her eyes dropped instantly. She would find out. 
She would question him, even if her mother dared not. 
She would know if Beattie — .” 

She did not dare to put her suspicion into words, 
even to herself. 

Altogether Grif Rysland made a very favourable 
impression on the two women, as indeed he could do 
when he tried. The black brows which knotted so 
darkly when it was a matter of quarrelling with men, 
or at the crossing of his will in the performance of 
duty, were now smooth, open, and placable. 

Euphrain rose and went out leaving her mother 
and Ivie with the newcomer. As she went through 
the little passage which served for a division between 
the lower rooms and also for the foot of the ladder 
by which one mounted to the tiny garrets above, she 
shivered with a curious fear at the sight of the long 
dangling sword with the worn waist-belt of black 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


196 

leather, clasped here and there with flat silver clasps 
and buckles. It was hanging sideways and she pulled 
the sword out a little way, and read the beginning of 

the “ Andrea F. ” on the blade. He had fought 

with that — perchance he had killed a man with that 
sword — nay, almost certainly. Had not Raith seen 
him slay the Laird of Houston, a great strong roaring 
man of whom all the country-side stood in terror, slay 
him with one blow, in the quarry on the edge of the 
Kerslan Wood. 

Euphrain had never seen anything like that sword 
before. It seemed so purposeful, so much a part of 
the man. She began almost to wish that he had worn 
his uniform, and tried to imagine Sergeant Major Grif 
as she had once or twice seen him ride by on his way 
to Irongray, crossing the water at the ford with a gay 
lift of his hand to the reapers in the field and a guid- 
ing shout to his men behind him. 

It is strange, but Euphrain had never had any love 
affair, and knew not in the least what the symptoms 
were like. So nothing told her to beware of harbour- 
ing curiosity in the matter of a long silver-hilted 
sword, with an Andrea Ferrara blade. 

But shame rushed to her face in a flood of crimson 
when the chamber-door opened silently and the owner 
of the weapon appeared, drawing the little cottage 
latch close after him. Euphrain actually emitted a 
little cry. She had the blade so far out of the scab- 
bard that the heavy hilt would have overbalanced, and 
the whole might have fallen to the ground had not 
Grif who did everything with swift and silent speed, 
caught it as it fell. With a single movement, as it 
seemed to Euphrain, and without the least conscious- 
ness, he girt the sword-belt about him, the silver 
tongue of the buckle clicking smoothly into its place. 

“ Thank you," he said, “ I had hung it up stu- 
pidly." 


THE SILVER-HILTED SWORD 197 

« No — I — I — I,” began Euphrain. But she could 
get no farther. 

“ Would you like to see it ” he said, drawing the 
long blade from its sheath with a wisp of exquisitely 
fitted metal. 

“ Oh no — no,” she would have said, but could not. 

The tall man with the shining eyes and the grey 
curls crisp about his temples, explained to the girl the 
beautiful temper of the blade, the clean true line of 
the edge, and the beautiful carved work upon the 
hilt. Euphrain took courage. She heard the other 
two talking safety within. They at least would not 
come out and catch her. This was all a fearful, a peril- 
ous joy. Nothing like it had come her way before. 

“ Have you ever killed a man with this } ” she 
asked, faintly, finding her words at last. 

Grif Rysland’s quick ear caught the anxiety in her 
voice. 

Perhaps,” he said, “you see I have been long a 
soldier, and fought many battles, but never in this 
country.” 

He had fought many battles. He had slain men. 
Yes, as she looked at him she was sure that he must. 
Of course he was bound to be the victor. Who could 
stand against him ? 

“ Oh, if only — ,” she began, and then she stopped 
— her face aflame. 

“If only what he asked smiling. But, poised in 
act to flee, she would not tell him. Only he stood 
directly in her way. Having gone almost to the outer 
door to look at the sword, she could neither return to 
her mother, nor yet mount to her chamber without 
passing this formidable man of war and weapons. 

“ I thought,” she said, taking her courage in both 
hands, “ that if only a great soldier like you would 
fight for the True Cause — then indeed we might 
triumph.” 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


198 

Well,” he said, something of humour coming into 
his voice, “ perhaps I might if the pay were good ! ” 
He added under his breath, “ And if I only knew 
which was the Good Cause ! ” 

The pay — ” Euphrain caught fire instantly — the 
daughter of William Ellison speaking within her, the 
reward of iniquity may buy Aceldama, the field of 
Blood, but thirty pieces of silver cannot buy the breadth 
of a foot in the New Heavens and the New Earth ! ” 
“You mistake me,” said Grif Rysland, far more 
gently than any would have expected of him, “ I only 
meant that all payment is not made in coined money. 
If I were sure — ” he stopped and looked keenly at the 
girl, who, the light fading from her eyes and cheek, 
looked steadily upon the ground. “ No — no,” he went 
on — , “lam an old man. It is folly. More need for 
me to think of sheathing my sword rather than of 
drawing it anew. That at least is permitted even by 
your law.” 

“ It is true,” she said, sadly and reluctantly, “ of a 
certainty it is written — ‘ The fruit of the spirit is love, 
joy, peace — ’ against such there is no law ! ” 

“ Ah,” he repeated her words a little wistfully, “love, 
joy, peace — but where, I pray you, shall Grif Rysland 
find these } ” 

Euphrain stood at the door and watched him go up 
the cliff path and turn the corner. 

“ It is all so different,” she said, “ I thought to hate 
him — I was so sure. I could have struck him in the 
face at first. An old, cruel, wicked man, that is what 
I imagined. And now — he is not old — not so old even 
as Gil to look at. He is not cruel, though he has 
been a soldier. And, oh, whatever he says, I am sure 
that he is not wicked ! ” Then she sighed. 

“ I wish he had left that sword behind,” she said, 
“ there was a spot on the handle. I am sure I could 
have got it out — without his knowing.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


COUNTERPLOT 

“Ah,” said Grif Rysland, with a sigh, sinking into 
the corner of the worn cliff -seat which uncle and nephew 
had used so long, till, indeed, the smell of rough sea- 
clothes hung about its polished curves even in windy 
weather. “Ah, I have lost Ivie ! ” 

Raith paled and his heart gave a great leap. What 
was her father about to say ? 

“ You mean — he began, “ you mean — ? ” 

“ I mean the women have gotten her — body and 
soul — they have taken her from me. Oh, it is just 
and right. She has been too long among men. And 
as for religion, God knows I never had any of my own 
to teach her. But though she never knew Credo from 
Creed, nor Paternoster from Assembly’s Catechism 
she was always better than I. It would have been 
an insult for me or any man to teach her anything.” 

“ She is as an angel of heaven,” said Raith, warmly. 
Her father looked at him curiously. 

“ Hardly — well, not altogether,” he smiled at the 
enthusiasm of the young man, “ several of your sex 
and age have not been of that opinion — at least not 
to finish with. But Ivie is a good, a true maid. I 
never saw that she needed aught else. But the hearts 
of women are different. They yearn for respect — for 
commonplace Madame This and Mistress That to ap- 
prove of them — even for their place in a circle of gos- 
sips all busy with tongue and needle over their several 
seams ! Ivie too — my Ivie, that once would wake 


200 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


bright as a bird every morning by five o’ the clock, 
and out to the stables to comb my war-charger’s tail. 
Ah, poor Gustavus, she made it like spun silk floating 
in the wind ! ” 

Her own hair is like that,” murmured the young 
man, as if to himself. 

“ Like my horse’s tail, sir ? ” said Grif, turning upon 
him sharply, I hope you do not say the like to the 
lady herself. I can tell you she has been used to com- 
pliments much more prettily turned. But — no mat- 
ter, all that is over now. The women have taken her. 
She is not a man’s possession any more.” 

He looked down at his sober-coloured dress with a 
curious sadness and even pity for himself. 

“And you, Grif Rysland,” he went on, “ what better 
are you ? An alderman of the ward in all but the 
waistcoat slope — your coat, as it might be, made for a 
bailiff — your sword a maid’s plaything — ah — ! ” 

He lost himself in thought, rubbing his thick frosty 
hair absently. “ But, indeed it is time,” he said, “we 
will hang Andrea up. You, Raith, shall hammer in 
the nail. I will blunt his edge. We will gie him to 
the bairns to play with — ah, no not that. But we will 
hang him up all the same — ‘ Love, joy, peace, against 
such there is no law ! ’ So she said ! ” 

“Who said.?” interrupted Raith. 

Grif glared at him. He had been thinking 
aloud. 

“ I did not say any one said — ” he retorted rudely, 
almost in his old manner. 

“ It sounded like a text,” said Raith, to excuse him- 
self, “like — like my father.” 

“ Well, what the worse of that .? ” exclaimed Grif, 
impatiently, “ I do not know but your father has the 
right end of the string — he — and the others.” 

Raith looked wistfully over at the Bass. 

“ I wish they were well out of that,” he said, “ the 


COUNTERPLOT 


201 


brutes I left behind will be starving them — perhaps 
torturing them ! ” 

Grif’s eyes narrowed and glittered in the shadow. 

“To hunt the man that I, Grif Rysland, made my 
representative ! ” he said. “If it were not for — I 
would teach them. They shot at you. I can hear the 
whistle of every bullet. Would have bled you like a 
sheep — the mutinous knife was set at my own throat. 
Zounds (he rose hastily to his feet) I will teach them 
— we will give Andrea one last turn for luck, ere we 
knock up that nail in the wall to hang him on. What 
say you, Raith Ellison ? ” 

Raith’s face brightened with joy and content abso- 
lute. 

“ Captain,” he said, “ I have not been all my life a 
soldier like you — Nevertheless, where you go, I can 
follow ! ” 

Grif was thinking, swiftly, keenly, analysing and 
deciding. 

“ The prisoners, too ! ” he continued, “ what of them ? 
Now, I am under no oath. I am no longer in the King’s 
service. I owe no fealty to this man James or to the 
Privy Council which deprived me. We will free them 
— what say you ? Will you risk it — your blind father, 
your elder brother, Peden the Prophet, and the rest } 
What say you ” 

Something had moved Grif Rysland that afternoon. 
Raith looked at him a little terrified, not because of the 
adventure but at the change in the man. 

“ What Grif Rysland holds honourable for him to at- 
tempt, is good enough for Raith Ellison to do,” he an- 
swered promptly. 

And with that they struck hands upon it. 

“ I am an honest man,” said Grif Rysland, lazily 
stretching himself so as to get both legs into the sun, 
“ I pay my debts. I owe something to the govern- 
ment of this country, which has taken its use of me 


202 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


and then cast me off like an old shoe — nay, not with 
half so much ceremony. I owe still more to those 
rascals on the Bass, for their lying letter to the Coun- 
cil and for their mutiny against you ! ” 

“ Never mind about that,” said Raith smiling, 
“ thanks to your old horse-pistol, they got more than 
they gave ! ” 

“ That,” answered his chief, has nothing to do with 
it. I was Governor of the Bass. Being called away, 
I made over my authority to you. Instantly my back 
was turned they plotted murder and mutiny. Either 
I will teach them a lesson, or Grif Rysland will find 
peace and rest in his last long sleep ! ” 

An uncertain foot came up the path, and Prayerful 
Peter started back at the sight of the newcomer. 

“ Never be shy, Peter,” said Grif, ‘*come your ways, 
man ! I have much to say to you. You are a true 
man — when well enough paid. I have strolled down 
from Edinburgh to see what can be done in the mat- 
ter of the Bass. It is, as you know, overrun by a crew 
of rascally mutineers.” 

“Aye,” said Prayerful Peter, “and the deil’s ain 
trouble I hae to get a silver groat oot o’ them. But 
noo when ye are here. Captain Grif, they will 
be sma’ sma’ men — aye, they will sing to a minor 
tune ! ” 

“ I do not wish to be known as governor of the 
Bass,” said Grif Rysland, “ but my duty is to take the 
place out of these rascals’ bloody hands. And I call 
upon you to aid me.” 

“ Me,” exclaimed Prayerful Peter, edging away as 
if he meditated a bolt down the path, “ ye ken brawly 
I am nae fechter. I am aye man o’ peace and hae 
been ever since I was a wee callant rinnin’ the sands 
and howkin’ for crabs. When ither callant oppressed 
me or hit me, I never did ony thing but greet — at the 
time. But after, I aye keeled him wi’ a stane ahint a 


COUNTERPLOT 


203 

dyke, or maybes pushed a stack 0’ com on the tap o’ 
him when he wasna lookin’ ! ” 

Grif laughed heartily. 

“ No — no,” he said reassuringly, I was far from 
expecting you to help us to take the Castle of the Bass 
by storm and escalade. Ye shall never quit the firm 
ground on this side — ” 

“ Deed that will I no ! ” said Prayerful Peter, with 
intense conviction. 

“ And all that you will have to do, is just to hold 
your tongue.” 

** That I am well used to doing,” said Peter, grin- 
ning. 

“ You must, however, supply us with some arms, 
and a boat or two, manned by somebody you can trust.” 

Arms — ,” said Peter, shaking his head, “ that is 
dangerous talk. Nae body kens better than your 
Excellency — ” 

“ Hang his Excellency. I want none of it. I tell 
you once for all,” cried Grif Rysland. 

Weel,” said Peter, ** ye ken at ony rate that a’ 
arms offensive and defensive are forbidden under the 
severest pains and penalties. The farmers’ barns and 
steadings have been searched to their very sarkings 
not once but thirty times ! ” 

“And that,” said Grif Rysland, threatening Peter 
with his finger, “ is the exact reason why j/ou will have 
the whole store hidden away somewhere among your 
coves and shelters that the devil himself could not 
follow all the nooks and windings of.” 

Peter Paton wagged the tufted semi-circle of beard 
which he wore like a ruff under his chin. He knotted 
his brows with an air of doubt. 

“It will tak’ siller,” he said, “the like o’ that! 
There’s siccan a risk to be run, besides a’ the detri- 
ment to the weapons ! ” 

“ Hark ye, Peter, no more of that,” cried Grif 


204 the cherry ribband 

sternly, the black knot beginning to gather wamingly, 
“I will stand good for all. You know I have done as 
much before and that I do not break my word. Let 
us see the arms and ammunition.” 

<< They are no here,” said Peter, guardedly, ye 
couldna expect it. My nevvy and me will bring them 
frae whaur they lie. This is a place far ower public 
for the like o’ that ! But — there’s nae thing that puir 
auld Peter wadna do for you. Captain Grif, though he 
does it at a great risk to his neck. But I ken a true 
gentleman. Aye, I ken him. He aye tak’s the like 
o’ that into acoont on settlin’ day ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIX 



GRIF RYSLAND’s SWORD KNOT 

The material of warfare and the price thereof were 
at last settled with Prayerful Peter, who showed him- 
self as usual an excellent hand at a bargain and took 
in the two soldiers most shamefully. But the real 
preparation had to be done by means of Long-bodied 
John, Who had none of his uncle’s scruples about per- 
sonal risks. 

“Mind ye,” he said, frankly, “I’m no sayin’ that I 
am muckle good oot o’ a boat, but Allister and the 
ither twa fisher lads are aye on the rock. I can mak’ 
a’ right wi’ them. If it hadna been for them, never a 
Covenant billy in the cells but wad hae had his throat 
cut lang syne and followed ye ower Hughie’s Craig ! 
But the thieves kenned weel that withoot Allister they 
wad get nae tobacco and but few stores, no to speak 
o’ a drap o’ usquebaugh and Hollands for their thrap- 
ples. Mair nor that, there will be me and my cousin 
Gutsy Gregory to bide by the boats. Gregory is nae 
great hand, mair than mysel’ at scrammlin’ on rocks or 
shooting wi’ a loaded gun. But he can baud a boat 
steady when a twenty gallon cask is cornin’ doon ower 
fast on the Castle * cran ’ — And maybe ye will find 
that juistps usefu’ ! ” 

It was^Dy Long John Baton’s means also that Grif 
and Raith got into touch with half a dozen daring lads 
of the neighbourhood, who were willing to share any 
adventure, yet who, being of good family and wishing 
^ to bring no discredit on their own, could be trusted to 


206 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


hold their tongues afterwards. Two of these were 
Simpsons, cousins of Euphrain’s from the farm of 
Nether Barnston over the hill. 

To these lads nothing was said as to the purpose 
of Grif in chastising the garrison of the Bass for their 
mutiny and attempted murder of Raith. The release 
of the prisoners, especially of the Ellisons and Mr. 
Peden was the bait held out. 

It was understood that the secret was to be sa- 
credly kept. None save those actually risking their 
lives were to be informed. And in especial no woman 
was to hear a whisper of the matter. 

Yet since Grif Rysland had business each day down 
at the Cottage the matter of secrecy was not so simple 
as it appeared. He went down to see I vie, but he 
talked to Euphrain and her mother. In particular 
there was one tree at the corner of a small and be- 
draggled garden of pot-herbs fenced about from wan- 
dering cattle by tarred ribs of boats and split thwarts, 
and wattled together with long sea-grass out of the 
bunkers on the shore. Under shade of this, Euphrain 
often sat on hot afternoons. The dark little room 
wherein her mother sat talking to I vie, seated on a 
stool at Marjory Simpson’s feet made her head ache. 
So she went and sat under the stunted oak, its branches 
all bent away from the sea by the blasts of winter. 
It made a good enough shelter however from the 
sun, and it was here generally that Grif Rysland found 
her. He did not wear his sword now, and had assumed 
a blue bonnet instead of a broad hat. But for all that 
he looked alert and clean-lined and soldierly in spite 
of his burghal costume. 

“ You have laid aside your sword,” she said, look- 
ing at him a little disappointed, “ I would rather see 
you draw it against the enemies of the King!” 

Which King ” he asked, softly. 

“ My King ! ” she answered him, looking up with a 


GRIP RYSLAND’S SWORD KNOT 207 

bold proud look in her eyes, which must once on a 
time have been her father’s. 

“ Will you, then, venture to enlist me ” he said, 
still very low. 

I do enlist you,” she answered, fire on her face. 
“ There is but one battle worth fighting — but one 
prize worth winning — 

“ Ah ! ” said Grif Rysland, suddenly. 

You will deliver the prisoners ? ” she asked, not 
thinking it wise to pursue her meditation. 

‘‘I will try. I have promised in company with 
your — cousins ! ” He had been on the point of saying 
* brother.’ But for the present, he had thought it bet- 
ter to conceal from all but Ivie the proximity of the 
prodigal son of the Mayfield family. 

‘‘After the prisoners are safely out of danger, we 
shall see ! ” he told himself. And indeed it was time 
enough. For the present he interdicted any com- 
merce between the cove and the cottage, a prohibition 
which sat specially heavy on Raith, who had nothing 
to do all day but to set out the ammunition, to overhaul 
and clean the muskets, pistols and other weapons, and 
especially for long hours together to look over the 
cliff, lying prone on his breast and chin, to watch for 
Ivie as she walked up and down the sand with her 
father deep in talk. Once or twice she raised her 
head and glancefT upward in the direction of the cove, 
and that was all poor Raith got for his pains. 

Had Raith known of the interviews under the old 
scrunted oak tree at the comer of the yard, he might 
have had yet more reason to complain. But the cul- 
prits were entirely sheltered from his gaze and so the 
matter passed unseen. As for Grif, he excused him- 
self thus : “ They are young things, with all their lives 
before them. A little waiting will do them good — he 
basking up in the cove like a lizard on a rock, and she 
stretching her neck to see round comers down here on 


208 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 



the beach. But for me, I am an old man, and it must 
be now or never.” 

Like most excuses, this completely satisfied the ex- 
cuse-maker. For the others, also as usual, they did 
not count. 

It was the day before the great attempt. The as- 
sault was to be made in the dark time of the moon. 
Long-bodied John had taken over a good cargo of 
brandy the night before, and on his return had fore- 
told that, barring Allister and his two mates (who 
would only drink in reason), there would not be a sober 
man on the rock for twenty-four hours. John had, 
however, left word that if the garrison wanted any 
more beer they must have all the empty barrels 
waiting for the boats next night, so that he 
might carry them to the brewery where they could 
be refilled. 

“ There will be one man sober enough for that, any- 
way,” the long-bodied one prophesied, George Jex 
will see to the beer, or I am a Dutchman ? ” 

That afternoon then, recruiting-sergeant Euphrain, 
more zealous than ever for the Good Cause, had gone 
out earlier than usual to the shadow of the oak tree. 
It was a burning day, very still, the sky of a white 
glimmering heat through which far-away objects could 
be seen of a warm pink — an effect not uncommon in 
the later heats on the east coast of Scotland. 

Grif Rysland, appearing suddenly without noise as 
if he had dropped out of the white lift above, greeted 
Euphrain. The girl lifted her eyes. She had been 
thinking, seriously, gravely, with a soft dignity as ever. 
Something about Euphrain’ s steady conviction always 
silenced the jest on Grif’s tongue when he came near 
her. As usual, he told himself that she made him feel 
a better man. But the doubt — how she would receive 
the remark, kept him from repeating a commonplace 
of lovers. ‘‘You are ours — our soldier she said. 


GRIP RYSLAND’S SWORD KNOT 209 

keeping her vaguely troublous grey eyes on him 
fixedly. 

“Yours ! ” he corrected. 

“ Mine, why mine .? ” she regarded him wonderingly. 

“ Because,” said Grif Rysland, “ I am going for 
your sake to do something that, had any one told me 
of it a week ago, I should have stricken him in the 
face. I am going to release prisoners held in prison 
by the law of the land.” 

“ Nay,” she said, “ say rather shamefully and cruelly 
imprisoned and tortured by unjust persecutors, with- 
out trial or warrant ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” he said, gently, “ I believe it because 
you say so. I do the thing for your sake.” 

“ Why do you tell me this ? ” she said, “ it would be 
more fitting to say that it was for the sake of justice, 
for the sake of right, for the sake of the Cause ! ” 

“ But, you being a woman and I a man, we know 
that it is not because of any of these — but wholly for 
your sake. Because I love you^ Euphrahi ! ” 

The colour mounted hotly to her cheek. Being as 
he said, a woman, it could not but make her happy 
to hear such a man speak thus. “ For her sake” — 
never anyone had said that to her before. She ought 
to have wished it otherwise. But somehow she did not. 

He stood a while silent regarding her. She had 
never been beautiful save in the stillest fashion, like an 
autumn afternoon in an orchard when the sun is shin- 
ing. Nevertheless she was beautiful now, the light 
flecking her hair, and all her face transfigured with 
the wonder of being loved. 

“ I may never come back,” he continued, “ that may 
very well be. Nay, perhaps it is even probable. Will 
you give me nothing before I go — no token ? ” 

She paused a long while, red and white by turns. 
Then from under a heap of scattered linen which lay 
on the grass, she lifted up — Grif Rysland’s sword. 

14 


210 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** There was a spot or two on it,” — she blushed 
hotly as she faltered an explanation, there on the 
hilt — I have cleaned them. And here” — she put up 
her hand and undid the broad blue ribbon of the cov- 
enant from her hair. Then she tied it in a little bow- 
knot, threading it with trembling fingers through the 
silver filigree of the hilt. 

“ I give you that ! ” she said. And fled fleet of foot 
to the house, leaving him standing rapt with the 
sheathed sword and jangling belt in his hand. 

Euphrain’s gage was her own maiden snood. That 
is to say, it was the promise of herself. 


CHAPTER XXX 


PRISON BREAKING 

Dark, infinitely spangled night — the sea beneath 
purple black. As they advanced the rock rose grad- 
ually up into the zenith till it shut out the Pleiads, a 
huge formless velvety shape. It was the eve of the 
great venture. 

The two boats moved silently with only a little sail 
set in the bow so that the trail of phosphorescent 
wake might not be seen from the rock. Bubbles 
winked now and then as the breeze freshened. The 
freeboard leaned over for a moment to the chopping 
clatter of the little waves, but for the most part there 
was all about, the stillness of the ultimate peace. 

On the Bass not a light was to be seen, not a lan- 
tern going to and fro, no gleam even from the bay- 
onet of the soldier pacing his beat along the terrace 
walk. 

** All drunk — drunk as owls,” commented Jock of 
the long body who had his reasons for knowing, that 
brandy was strong enough to account for twenty such.” 

“ Old George would keep awake to ship the empty 
beer barrels, though,” said the younger of the Simp- 
son lads. “ That I will wager ! We shall find him 
growling and fuming as usual.” 

“ Murderous hound ! ” muttered Grif Rysland be- 
tween his teeth. 

The soft lap of waves made itself heard along the 
outlying rocks. The oars of both boats were put out 
to keep way on them when the little scraps of sail 


212 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


were taken in forward. Long-bodied John put both 
hands to his mouth conch-fashion and sent a long pier- 
cing shout upwards. Thrice the call went unan- 
swered, but after the fourth the light of a lantern was 
seen waving and staggering above among the rocks. 

** Who are you, answer, or I will let fly a carronade 
at you ” It was Old George’s voice, and it seemed 
that he had forgotten the appointment of the evening. 

“ Ready with the beer barrels there, if ever you 
want another drink, George Jex ! ” cried Long John. 
“ Man the crane — we have but little time to lose.” 

“ Easier said than done,” grumbled Old George, 
“ that brandy of yours was the very Beelzebub. There’s 
not a man, except maybe Allister, that’s fit to drive 
round the winch.” 

“ Well, there’s a fisher lad or two here, George, that 
would be glad of a groat,” cried Long-bodied John, 
shall I send them up to give ye a hand ? ” 

“Never,” answered George, valiantly, “not a foot 
does any new-gospelling herring-catcher set on the 
isle of the Bass. I’ll work her mysel’ first ! ” 

“ Verra weel, then,” said John, “ but ye will find 
nae boats. I dinna want the bottom driven oot o’ my 
uncle’s property by a beer cask coming at us in the 
dark like a thunderbolt frae the lift. Guid nicht to 
ye, George ! The lads in the main-guard will sober 
aff by this time next month, and it will do them a 
world o’ good to do withoot the tippenny ale till then, 
wi’ a’ that brandy in them to begin wi’ ! ” 

“ No, no,” cried Old George, with sudden anxiety, 
“ they would brain me, and that’s a fact. Send up 
your fishers, but see that they are decent lads.” 

So the two Simpsons, Grif Rysland and Raith Elli- 
son were put ashore to do the deed, and they scrambled 
up the cliff swiftly, all of them knowing the way in the 
dark as readily as at noonday. Soon the walls of the 
little low fortifications stood up blocking their path, 


PRISON BREAKING 


213 


and they could hear George Jex bidding them to come 
in. But in his bemused state Old George had com- 
pletely forgotten to unlock the outer gate, and now 
when summoned stood fumbling with the keys, unable 
to select the proper one. 

Open there, George,” cried Grif,^ hoarsely, throw- 
ing his voice through a double fold of woollen muffler. 

“ Patience, burst ye ! ” shouted^ the angry man, “ to 
hae a parcel o’ scaly fishermen G,mmanding me on the 
Bass. I’ll gie ye ‘ open there,’ ^vi’ a pair o’ pistols, ye 
helpless set o’ tarry breeks ! ” I 

“ Beer,” suggested Grif, l/ber and the casks to put 
it in ! ” i/ 

The gate swung as at/an “ Open Sesame,” and 
George, who had been pushing with his shoulder to 
assist the action of the words of the lock, fell forward 
into the arms of one of t ^e Simpson lads. 

Instantly Grif Ryslanci kicked his lantern down the 
slope, and fell to rating him for his carelessness. 

“Drunken pigs,” he ixclaimed, still hoarsely, “and 
you, George, are the wo l^it of the lot. To let fall your 
lantern, and no time to strike a spark in a tinder box. 
^ ^"^et to the crane there, lads, and roll out the barrels. 
V Lively, now ! ” 

The guard-house was full of snoring forms, and it 
was evident that there was a cask of brandy in the 
comer at which it had been “ cut-and-come-again.” 

Grif, who knew the position of the cell keys, had 
them down while the rest were still stumbling their way 
among the sleepers. Old George was groping in vain 
for the lantern, which Grif Rysland had already tum- 
bled over the cliff. 

“ Now for the barrels,” said Grif, “ where do you 
keep them, George — the old place ?” He ran along 
the row of cells, and opening each with a push of the 
foot or a nudge of the elbow, delivered his message 
and sped away. It was the long-planned rescue. The 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


214 V 

prisoners >vere to be ready. Not a word! Not a 
sound — onljl^Lb^ ready ! 

A cradle of\ leather and iron had been slung with 
ropes to the of the crane. Allister, whose part 

had already bee>i assigned to him, had seen to it that 
all the heads wei;?\Put of the casks. 

** Send a light orje down first,” said Raith, “ till we 
see how the winchei^. work. Are you there, Allister, 
you and the others .? iev'^ ^ 

At this moment GrjceCume out of the prison with a 
line of shadows at his which crouched under the 

darkness of the terrace 

“ In with you first,” he fi as Gil Ellison stood un- 
certain whether or not to lO ive his father. 

** He is in good hands I ’1 ^hispered his guardian. 
“ I will send him down next\)rif you are safe ! ” 

Then aloud he cried ** Allyb^ady below, John .? ” 
Ready — lower away 1 ” y' 

“George Jex,” he said, “\>u are captain of the 
winch. Give the word. YoulePnimand here I ” 

“ Do I ?” growled George, wish I had my lan- 
tern to see what I was comn^ hiding ! ” 

“ Better without it, considering' our cargo,” sa^ 
Grif, “ well, if you won’t, I will — lower away, lads I ” V 
“ All right below — lower away — slo-o-wly 1 ” cried 
Old George, determined not to relinquish without a 
struggle the authority he had bought so dearly by 
twenty hours of comparative sobriety. Gil went 
down easily, the fishers and Allister on one side and 
the Simpson lads on the other, braking and letting go 
the handle-bar as was necessary. 

“ All right below } ” cried George Jex, as the rattle 
of the winch stopped and the crane swung a little to 
the side. 

“Right all — send us another, and look sharp!” 
came the voice of Long-bodied John from below. 
Another cask was put on the empty cradle, the lar- 


PRISON BREAKING 


215 


gest and best. It was William Ellison’s turn, and 
there was a doubt whether or no he would submit 
without a protest. But Peden the Prophet was at 
his elbow. 

“ Go, William,” he said, “ I must get to the shore 
to die there. My soul cannot win loose here. Go 
first, it is the will of the Lord.” 

They guided him to the cask, George Jex growling 
at their landward awkwardness. Half a dozen of his 
fellows, if only they had been sober, could have cleared 
the lot in the time they had been lowering away 
one. 

“ I dare say,” said Grif, still through his woollen 
screen, — “ into the sea ! But we manage to get them 
safe into a boat ! Let her go ! ” 

“ Who is giving the word, you or I ” grunted George 
Jex, “ lower away, lads, and careful ! ” 

And so by George’s instructions, first blind old 
William Ellison and then Peden the Prophet were sent 
safely down into John Paton’s boat. The other pris- 
oners followed one by one. 

Then it was time to take action of a more definite 
kind. 

“Ahoy there, is Gregory’s boat filled } ” demanded 
Grif Rysland. 

“ Room for just one more ! ” 

“ One more then ! And the last to top the cargo ! ” 

It was the signal, sign and countersign. Grif Rys- 
land, with a quick sweep of his arm, wound the woollen 
comforter round and round Old George’s mouth, 
cramming the end well between his teeth. Raith set 
the cold rim of a pistol muzzle to his temple, and the 
Simpson lads bound him conscientiously hand and foot. 

“ You will go without a cask, George,” said one of 
the last, “ no empty kegs for you ! ” So they fastened 
him bodily to the cradle and swung him off into the 
darkness. 


2l6 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ Got him ? ” cried Grif as the paying out of the rope 
stopped without the usual jerk. 

“ Over-run ! ” the word came from below. “ That one 
got a little dip in the sea. But no harm done. Haul 
away ! ” 

“ On board this time ! ” The shout came up. George 
had found rest. 

“ Let Gregory go on with his cargo,” said Grif, 
and bide you near the landing-place with the smaller 
boat. All clear below ? Stand out from the cliff ! ” 

‘‘All clear ! ” 

Grif cast off the hooks of the checking-chains, and 
tumbled the whole apparatus, ropes, cradle, hooks and 
all into the water 

“A little gunpowder,” said Grif, “ and we could have 
sent the crane by the board too.” 

“ George ! ” cried a voice from the guard-room, in 
which they had supposed all the men to be lying snor- 
ing drunk, “ George, what’s all that ? Show a glim, 
George ! ” 

“ Only the beer casks,” growled Grif, imitating 
George Jex as well as he could, “and I’ve lost my 
lantern.” 

“ Something wrong there, lads,” cried the voice of 
Tyars, the Englishman, “ tumble up there, fellows. 
That’s never Old George’s voice ! ” 

“ Let us alone,” they growled from their various 
couches, “ I tell you it is only the fishers for the empty 
beer casks ! ” 

“Aye, that’s what it is ! ” said Allister, from the 
terrace end. 

“ Something wrong,” shouted Tyars, from his place, 
“ ah, if I were not on my back — precious soon I would 
see. Wake up there, you drunkards ! Wake up, ye 
crawling Scots, ye beggarly brandy-swillers. Get 
down the muskets from the racks. Fix bayonets. 
Strike a light ! ” 


" 1 


PRISON BREAKING 


217 


** One thing at a time, curse you, pock-pudding ! 
‘ What’s the matter ? ’ Nothing in the world — Old 
George loose among the beer, that’s all.” 

“ Strike a light, I tell ye,” cried Tyars. Give me 
the tinder. Lord you’ll set us afire! There — now 
you’ve done it I We shall all roast for this — or at least 
I will, helpless here on my back.” 

One of the bemused drunkards, getting the tinder 
well alight, and blowing a shaving of dried wood into 
flame, accidentally dropped it into the brandy cask and 
instantly the pale blue flame of the spirit rose high. 
Someone knocked the keg over, perhaps thinking thus 
to extinguish it, and the flames flashed over the whole 
floor of the guard-room. Everything burst into in- 
stant flame. The drunkards staggered out trampling 
on one another, and shrieking with idiotic laughter. 
Not one of them thought of their wounded comrade on 
his couch, who alone had given the alarm. Even had 
they remembered, they would not have returned. 

“Lads, give a hand,” cried Tyars, “don’t leave me 
to be roasted alive I ” 

But they stumbled and tripped on the steep slopes 
some of them even rolling down into the sea, which was 
the last of them. They slapped each other’s burning 
coats where the spirits had been spilled, and all the 
time shouted with alternate laughter and oaths. 
Those who carried pistols or had guns in their hands 
fired them off as if rejoicing after a victory. 

And all the time keen and dreadful rose the agonized 
screams of the burning man in the blazing guard-house. 

“ What to do — what to do ” said Raith, who was 
young and not yet ready in all emergencies. 

“ God in heaven — I had meant to kill him myself,” 
cried Grif, suddenly, “ but I can’t stand this I If I 
don’t come back, tell Euphrain that I did it for her 
sake I ” 

“ Euphrain ? ” gasped Raith. 


2i8 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But Grif Rysland was already gone into that white 
belching house of flame, which roared about him like a 
furnace. 

He emerged after what seemed hours but was only 
a few brief seconds, bearing a struggling man over his 
shoulder. Both were blackened and scorched almost 
beyond recognition. 

“Oil and salve, there,” — Grif cried, “and oh, a 
mouthful of water ! ” 

But no one of these was to be had. The guard 
had only given a little foul water each morning to the 
prisoners, and that had long since disappeared. 

“I know!” said Raith, suddenly “there are medi- 
cines in the governor’s house — in the secret cupboard 
— if they have not found it out.” 

But it was impossible to pass through that flaming 
bursting brasier of the guard-house, now white-hot, 
and not to be looked at even from far without a hand 
held before the eyes. 

“Over the wall at the corner of Peden’s cell!” 
Raith explained to Allister, but the fisherman, though 
bred to the rocks, shrank back affrighted. 

“ It is hard enough in the daytime — impossible at 
night,” he said, “ I have never done it from the side 
of the prison.” 

“ Well,” said Raith, “ I did — once — but I was run- 
ning for my life ! ” 

It was for another’s life now, yet he did not hesi- 
tate. For that man was Grif Rysland. “ I will fill 
the pitcher of water first ” — he said, “ do you be ready 
to catch it when I swing, Allister. The rope is still 
there, I suppose.” 

Allister nodded, a little ashamed of having hung 
back. As he had promised, Raith was not long gone. 
He brought the water first safely enough, but as he 
ran for the governor’s house up the hill, some of the 
scattered drunkards caught sight of him. His figure 


PRISON BREAKING 


219 

stood clear in the fierce white light from the burning 
guard-house. 

Lobster-back’s ghost ! ” they cried, laughingly, too 
drunk to be afraid, as at another time they would have 
been, “ let us have a shot apiece at Lobster-back’s 
ghost.” They were, however, far too tipsy to take 
aim. Raith found all things in the governor’s house 
put to sack and pillage. But the little private cup- 
board had not been found. Raith could see every- 
thing clearly, for the fire made all within bright as 
day. The guards had smashed the small irregularly 
shaped lozenges of glass, whorled in their lead guards 
like the bottoms of bottles, and the glare from the 
crackling roof and flaming spirit came in undimmed. 

He slid back the secret catch, a bar cunningly con- 
cealed above a wooden cornice. Opening the panel he 
speedily found what he wanted and sped back again 
untouched. One of the men got in his way, a musket 
in his hands, but Raith simply opened his mouth and 
ran roaring at him. At which the sot slipped and 
went headlong on the bird -sprinkled turf. 

Raith got back safely enough, and the wounds of 
both Grif and the Englishman were dressed. For the 
moment, however, they could not be moved, though 
Grif, as he lay and groaned, could not but admit that 
the position was a serious one enough. 

The fire in the guard-house would be a signal to all 
far and near that something serious had occurred upon 
the Bass. Doubtless there would be inquiries, offers 
of assistance, and so on so soon as it was light on the 
following morning. Indeed, daybreak was now fast 
approaching. But certainly Grif could not be moved. 
Furthermore, they must either kill the Englishman or 
carry him with them, in order to keep his mouth shut. 
The white-hot ruins of the guard-house still glowed, 
shutting them in completely on that side. Raith and 
Allister might have made their way by the cliffs to the 


220 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

governor’s house, but this was clearly impossible for 
the others. 

It is a pity,” said Raith, “ that the crane is de- 
stroyed.” 

“ Pity,” exclaimed Grif, tortured by the thought of 
the mistake he had made, as well as by the pain of his 
wounds. “ It is a catastrophe ! Grif Rysland, never 
set up for a wise man or a good soldier again. You 
have cut off your own retreat.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


H. M. S. SWIFTSURE IN THE BAY 

Day broke upon a close coverture of heat haze 
which filled the Firth. The rocky island lay as it 
were in the steam of a boiling pot. The unquiet 
pearl-grey sea-mist of the eastern coast went and 
came, thinning out above so that everything grew mo- 
mentarily iridescent — anon, overcast and glooming 
as in the thickest tingle of a thunderstorm, just be- 
fore the bolt breaks. Far below the fog would lift, 
as it were, a hand, and lo — they would see a single 
black skerry with the narrowest edging of white, small 
as if seen when one turns a spy-glass wrong-ways 
about. 

This was very well for the moment, but no one 
knew when the fog would lift, or what they would 
see when it did lift. For the present they were all 
without food on the terrace of the Castle, and with 
Captain Grif in his present state it was impossible for 
them either to get away or to signal to Long-bodied 
John. 

From the ousted garrison they had for the present 
no sort of trouble. The mist hid the two parties com- 
pletely one from the other, and of itself brought about 
a kind of truce. All they could do was to succour 
the two wounded men, now lying amicably enough 
side by side on a little green space between the 
soldiers’ lodging and the cells of the prisoners. Grif 
scorned himself openly for his bitter folly. As for 
the Englishman, he lay quite silent, not a flicker of 


222 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


pain on his face, though he was not only severely 
burned, but had also Raith’s bullet still unextracted 
in his shoulder. He said no word, though he listened 
to everything, and occasionally smiled a strange 
smile. 

Raith caught one of these, and took the meaning to 
be that Tyars was now sure of his revenge. At least 
it was plain that he was waiting for something to hap- 
pen — something which he knew and expected, but of 
which his captors were ignorant. 

It was about seven of the clock or nearer eight 
perhaps, that Raith Ellison, growing desperate as the 
morning went on, offered to chance it through the yet 
glowing embers of the guard-house and run down to the 
landing-place to see whether or no Long-bodied John 
were still there in waiting. It was an off-chance, but 
he was willing to risk that, or anything. He found 
that by throwing earth and rubbish on the glowing 
ashes and smouldering beams (for the roof had fallen 
in) some sort of a practicable path might be made 
over the debris. Still his boots were well-nigh burned 
off his feet before he got across, and it was manifestly 
impossible to carry two wounded men over, such a 
place. 

He had not gone far when he stumbled over a sleep- 
ing man, all tumbled in a heap as if he had been dead, 
yet lying (as a drunken man instinctively does) with his 
head to the hill. The man, whom he knew for one 
of the sourest and most ruffianly turnkeys, only 
grunted without rising, or indeed so much as opening 
his eyes. 

Raith ran rapidly towards the landing-place. The 
black water-foot with its rude pier of native rock was 
already quite near, when all of a sudden he heard 
close at hand, as it seemed in his very ear, the thunder 
of a great gun. 

Then as if at a given signal the sea-mist divided, 


H. M. S. SWIFTSURE IN THE BAY 223 


swirling away in wreaths and coils, melting from be- 
fore the sun, and lo — within a mile of the shore, plain 
and fair on the sunny blue water, a full-rigged King’s 
ship was just coming to anchor. The snowy sails 
were dropping swiftly as the fog rose, and as Raith 
stood uncertain he heard the rattle and splash of the 
anchor chain into the deep still water. 

Raith turned and ran back to the terrace walk with 
a tightness about his throat. They were caught in a 
trap indeed. Now, at last, he could interpret the mean- 
ing of the smile on the Englishman’s face. 

As he ran Raith could see that several of the drunk- 
ards were also on their feet, aroused by the near thun- 
der of the ship’s cannon. Some were merely yawning 
and shaking themselves listlessly. But he stopped for 
nothing. He had seen enough — more than enough to 
hang them all. There was no boat at the landing- 
place, and the King’s ship was saluting the Castle and 
Prison of the Bass. 

As he flew rather than picked his way over the still 
burning rubbish, he saw that they were holding up Grif 
Rysland to look. 

What ship is that ” he was asking hurriedly. 
“Is there no boat at the landing ? We are prisoners ! ” 

“ I will tell you,” said the Englishman, composedly, 
now speaking for the first time, “ that is His Majesty’s 
first-rate Swiftsiire, Captain George Teddiman, from 
the Nore, doubtless sent to examine the state of the 
Castle and Prison of the Bass.” 

So saying he lay back with the air of a man who 
has played his part well. “ Let me down ! ” said Grif 
Rysland. 

The Englishman lay still a moment or two, and then 
with great force jerked himself up on his elbow. 

“ You have all your heads well in the noose,” he 
said, looking round him, “ but you. Captain Grif, saved 
my life at the risk of yours, when these drunken ruf- 


224 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


fians would have left me to roast alive. I am an Eng- 
lishman. I hold no pact with a parcel of dirty Scotch 
thieves and turnkeys. I am a soldier like yourself, and 
though I have some lead in me which I owe to that 
young man there, I will stand by you, if so be that ye 
will accept of me.” 

There was nothing else to be done. They all lis- 
tened to Tyars, the Englishman, who without doubt 
had been thinking hard as he lay silent. 

“ First, then,” he said, prime and fire that gun in 
the corner. It was made ready last night for the com- 
ing of the ship today. Old George saw to that. Bad 
as he is, he was the only half-man among that cow- 
ardly crew.” 

And from his bed he directed the firing of the salut- 
ing gun, which Raith reprimed and touched off a mo- 
ment after. 

** There now,” said Tyars, ** that is about all I can 
do for you. The rest you must manage for yourselves. 
That will give you an hour or two’s grace. They never 
come ashore for inspection early on a King’s ship. 
And even then, most likely it will only be a boat’s 
crew with a boy officer. That is, unless they have 
some suspicion. If I were in your shoes, I would herd 
up these rascals outside — and get them in here with 
as little shooting as may be.” 

Grif also had been thinking. Raith could see him 
turning impatiently from side to side. 

** Thank you, Tyars,” he said, “ I always thought 
you a man. If I could only go out and help. But 
you lads must do the best you can and leave Tyars 
and me to guard the Castle.” 

Six they were who went to disarm and bring back 
the entire drunken garrison. Raith was in command. 
With him were Allister and his two cousins, the fisher 
lads of the Bass, while the two young Simpsons, James 
and Archie, brought up the rear. Raith left them to 


H. M. S. SWIFTSURE IN THE BAY 225 


keep the entrance, though indeed it was little likely 
that they would venture of their own accord through 
the fuming masses of rubbish which had once been 
their guard-house. 

The first part was easy enough. Raith found the 
sluggards just where he had passed them on his way 
to the landing-place. Most of them had simply rolled 
over to finish their sleep. Others were sitting hold- 
ing their temples. One man was moaning. “ My 
head — oh, my head ! Never, oh, never more ! ” 

These Raith and the three followers thumped with 
their gun-butts and poked with their bayonets till they 
had them on the march. 

You are prisoners,” they informed them, “ you un- 
derstand > March ! If you do not want your heads 
blown off ! ” 

And they did so, only the man who had been hold- 
ing his temples, wailing that on the whole he thought 
his would be easier so. But a few others, more awake, 
and seeing the fate of their comrades beneath, were 
on the alert, and escaped up the hill — slowly, it is true, 
and making no choice of hiding-places, like men with 
only half their wits about them. 

The chance word which he had spoken to them when 
he ordered them towards the ruins of the guard-house, 
was, in its way, a revelation to Raith. Yes, that was 
what to do with them. When he had coaxed and 
coerced his staggering convoy over the embers, 
he called out at once, “ Captain, where are the 
keys ? ” 

What keys ? ” said Grif, surprised at the young 
man’s unusual tone of authority, for responsibility is a 
wonderful tonic. 

“ The keys with which you opened the cells last 
night ? ” 

“ I threw them down by the last cell — Peden’s I 
think ! ” said the ex-governor. Raith ran and found 

15 


226 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


them as his chief had said. Then systematically he 
began to lock in his captives two in a cell, while Grif 
and the Englishman looked on with approval. Raith 
laid the keys beside Grif Rysland in the shadow, and 
marshalled his forces for another attempt. 

“ Remember there ought to be five more,” said 
Tyars, “ Pierce, Colvin, Conroy, MacBean, and the 
Keely ! Put a stopping shot in the Keely, and the 
rest will come like lambs.” 

Raith had a more difficult business before him now, 
and it struck him suddenly that, as the five whom 
Tyars had named would assuredly be in ambush, wait' 
ing for him, it would be well for his forces to divide. 
He proposed therefore that he should go out himself 
by the difficult and dangerous passage on the cliff 
side of Peden the Prophet’s dungeon. To his sur- 
prise, Archie Simpson, his younger cousin, offered to 
accompany him, though as before the fishermen hung 
back. What is more, Archie made his offer good, and 
by means of the rope and ring fastened in the wall, 
Raith and his volunteer found themselves on the mar- 
gin of the cliff towards its northern side, and not far 
from where he had formerly been driven into a trap at 
the point of Hughie’s Rock. 

But this time he was laying the snare himself, and 
it was quite unseen that he and the younger Simpson 
stretched away, keeping under lee of the rocks on all 
fours, till they were assured of having turned the. posi- 
tion of the enemy. Then crossing behind the conical 
summit of the Bass they cautiously descended the 
southern side, sure of taking the enemies’ position in 
the rear. Presently, they heard beneath them the 
crackle of an irregular volley, and looking from be- 
hind a rock they saw the blue smoke of gunpowder 
lazily drifting from behind a little breast-high ridge 
which commanded the entrance to the Castle. Allis- 
ter, his two comrades and the elder Simpson could be 


H. M. S. SWIFTSURE IN THE BAY 227 

seen carefully picking their way across the smoulder- 
ing debris of the guard-house. 

From behind the rock another gun spoke. Then 
making a sudden dash Allister and his three advanced 
rapidly till they also got into shelter. 

“ There must not be much more of this noise,” said 
Raith, in a low voice, “ or we shall have the King’s 
ship sending off a boat’s crew to find out what is the 
matter.” 

‘‘ Better finish, then ! ” said Raith’ s cousin Archie, 
a lad of an excellent courage. 

Raith nodded and they glided down with the utmost 
circumspection till they found themselves with their 
guns cocked, looking over the rear of their enemies’ 
position, within a yard or two of their unconscious 
backs, as they peered and watched for the chance of 
a shot at those in front. 

“ Do not move, at your peril,” said Raith. “ We 
have you covered ! Throw your guns as far as you 
can over the rocks in front, and then turn about.” 

But the Glasgow Keely was quick. He had turned 
at the first word, and discharged his piece point blank 
at Raith. The young man’s bonnet flew off and for 
a moment it seemed as if all would follow the Glas- 
gow man’s example. But Raith sprang over and 
knocked the Keely senseless with a blow from the 
butt of his gun, while from beneath Allister and the 
others came swarming. So taken between two fires, 
what remained of the mutineers (or of the faithful 
garrison, according to the point of view) was fain to 
yield up its arms and follow meekly in the company of 
their captors. Two of them carried the unconscious 
Keely, who alone that day had showed himself worthy 
of his city and upbringing. 

In this order they entered the Castle and were duly 
locked up in the remaining empty cells. 

“ Now,” said the Englishman to Grif Rysland, “ I 


228 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


do not know how far you are ready to go, or what 
pressure you are willing to put on this rascaldom. But 
so far as I can see, it is your heads or theirs. Take 
their uniforms and get into them as fast as may be. 
There is still a suit of the governor’s in the garret up 
at the house. Ellison’s scarlet, also though a little 
touched with sea-water, is still presentable. I saw one 
of the turnkeys with it the other day. You will make 
a small appearance, of course, with two wounded men, 
and one of these the governor. But half your force 
can be on shore for provisions — these sailor-men will 
know no better.” 

Grif listened grimly, nodding approval as Tyars pro- 
ceeded from point to point. 

“ You mean, it is a question of making these fel- 
lows hold their tongues } ” he said. 

Exactly !” assented the Englishman, shortly. 

“ Then I charge myself with that ! ” said Grif. 
“ Lads, go fetch my uniform. Tyars will direct you. 
Meanwhile give me an arm on either side, good lads. 
I will talk to these brutes ! Thank heaven, Raith 
Ellison, that your — I mean, that there are no women 
on the Bass to hear me ! ” 

Grif Rysland hobbled to the cells and held a short 
colloquy with the inmates, of which the matter was 
somewhat as follows : ** You know me, ye gutter scum 
— I am Grif of the Dragoons. By appointment, I am 
King’s Governor of this Island. When summoned to 
Edinburgh, I left Raith Ellison, of my regiment, to be 
Deputy in my place. Ye rose in mutiny and would 
have murdered him like the villains ye are. Now, 
listen to me, the rope is about your necks. There is 
a King’s ship in the bay. An examining officer will 
come on up to the Castle in a little. If ye let him 
know by word or look that ye are not the ordinary 
conventicle prisoners, whom ye have let escape in your 
drunken folly, I will shoot you on the spot for mutiny. 


H. M. S. SWIFTSURE IN THE BAY 229 

This I promise by my oath. Ye know whether I keep 
that or no ! ” 

If the Keely had been in a state to speak his mind, 
or if Tyars had continued on their side, even Grif 
Rysland might have found a difficulty in shutting the 
mouths of so many men. But in a little while, they 
even began to enter into the spirit of the jest, as they 
thought it, though it was such grim earnest for the 
captors of the Bass. Bundles of Whiggamore clothes, 
broad blue bonnets, checked Westland plaids, and 
Galloway brogans were searched out, and under the 
care of the two Simpson lads, who were boyishly de- 
lighted with their task, the dour, sodden, evil-eyed 
hacks of the gaol and the town-guard, were washed 
and combed and set soberly down in the more dusky 
corners of their cells. Some of them even started a 
psalm, but Grif s rasping “ None of that ! ” came in 
such a tone of anger that the mockery was stopped at 
once. 

Meantime a keen watch was kept upon the King’s 
ship beneath, the routine of which they could see quite 
plainly. She was that same battle ship. Swift sure, 
which had escaped from the Dutch many years before, 
in the time of the Shame. Presently, with many 
groans Grif had been endued with his uniform coat, 
while Raith in his faded scarlet and the elder Simpson 
in the clothes of one of the captives marched most 
gallantly up and down, the flash of their bayonets 
being clearly observable from the ship's deck, a mov- 
ing proof of the good watch and ward which was kept 
on His Majesty’s Castle and Prison of the Bass. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


CAPTAIN GEORGE TEDDIMAN’s INSPECTION OF THE BASS 

It was, as the Englishman Tyars had foretold, after 
dinner (that is, the Swiftsure's dinner, for those on 
the Bass had none) before a boat was seen to put off 
from the ship, with an officer, gallant in gold braid and 
lace seated in the stern sheets. 

The Castle of the Bass ran up a flag in honour of 
the visit and fired a gun. But within, every man had 
a quaking heart. 

“ Take me once more along the line of cells,” said 
Grif to the Simpsons. And he gathered his black 
brows into a knot before he began his course. 

“ Lads,” he said, to the prisoners, “ I will tell you 
one thing. I was sent here to command the Bass to 
be out of the way — because I killed a man — the Laird 
of Houston, you may have heard of him. It was a 
little thing and I have never boasted of it. But, be- 
lieve me, if any one of you disobeys me in jot or tittle 
this day of all days, I will make him, on the spot, no 
better than the Laird of Houston. So keep that in 
your minds, good lads ! ” 

Raith, thinking hard, was down at the landing-place 
with Allister and one of his fisher relatives. The boat 
seemed to approach with stupefying slowness. In 
spite of the eight stout sailor men, each with a clubbed 
pig-tail down his back, it seemed to stand still in the 
water. For Raith was in a hurry to have it over, that 
he might know his fate and that of the others up in 
the Castle. 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 231 

“ What — no jetty .... call that a landing-place ? 
Where in the name of ... . (certain sea divinities) 
.... am I to bring up my boat } ” 

It was a stout middle-aged officer in a cocked hat, 
with much gold lace upon it, who spoke. There was 
a younger officer beside him nursing a sword across 
his knees, but though the crew carried short cutlasses, 
which rather impeded them in rowing, they were only 
ordinary man-o’ -war’s men and Raith fixed all his at- 
tention upon the elder officer. 

“No stage for landing can be made here. Captain,” 
he said, courteously, “ the storms would sweep it away, 
and besides, it is accounted part of the defences of the 
Isle.” 

“ So it is — so it might well be, if the enemy were 
all over fifty-five and well grown about the girths ! 
Hey, lads, ship your oars, half of you, and give me a 
boost. The other half stand ready to fend off ! Don’t 
scrape Lieutenant Grime’s paint or you will hear of 
the matter. I can’t save you ! ” 

It was, as Raith had divined, no other than Captain 
George Teddiman of the Swiftsure who stood, ple- 
thoric and panting, on the black rocks, between 
Allister and the fisher lad. 

“ Arms pulled out of my sockets — oh — always do 
that here } Custom of the place, too } What — this 
is a smooth day, is it } And who are you } Why 
your uniform looks as if it had been keelhauled. The 
best you have got, Ellison of the Dragoons — Colonel 
Grahame’s ! Ah, I have heard of him — owns all 
Scotland, the Duke says — I mean the King, God bless 
him ! But it shall never be said that George Teddi- 
man judged any man by the fit of his clothes. His 
own. Lord knows — if it were not for ship’s discipline 
and Reggy here — well, the less said about that the 
better ! ” 

He glanced up at the steep track to the Castle. 


232 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** Where’s the swinging crane I heard so much about 
at the Trinity?” he exclaimed, “told me you could 
heave a man up as easily as a pound of saltpetre. I 
don’t see it.” 

“It went over the rock into the sea during the last 
storm, sir ! ” said Raith. 

“Ah,” cried the Captain, turning about, “come out, 
then, four of you, and the others put out a bit to keep 
the paint safe. A captain of a first-rater must not go 
up to a King’s Castle as if he were a snatch-purse on 
the highway. But what are dragoons doing here ? In 
that service you all set up for gentlemen, I hear — even 
the privates ! ” 

To this Raith answered nothing, a glance from the 
young officer who had been called Reggie warning him 
to be silent. 

“And why should you not ? ” cried the Captain of the 
Swz/tsure, stopping to get his breath, “God knows I’m 
the last man to question gentility in any man who be- 
haves himself ! But dragoons on an island — where 
d’ye keep your horses ? Something wrong there surely 
— something to note down, something to remark upon 
in my report ! ” 

At this Raith grew somewhat frightened. This 
man, for all his peaceful aspect and questionings, might 
prove more troublesome than one more imperious. 
He hastened to explain. 

“I am of His Majesty’s Dragoons,” he said, “or 
rather perhaps I ought to say, I was. I came hither 
with my superior officer, who requested that I should 
be allowed to accompany him. He is governor of the 
island.” 

“ His name ? ” 

“ Captain Grif Rysland ! ” 

“ Grif Rysland, ah ! ” said the visitor. 

The captain of the Swiftsure stopped on the slope 
which he had begun to climb, half because he was glad 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 233 

of a chance to stop and breathe, and half because some- 
thing in the name struck him. 

“ Gad’s fish,” he cried, “why. I’ve heard of him be- 
fore, only the other day — where was it, Reggie ? No 
— you can’t remember. You are of no use except to 
see if my boots are greased, and even these you are 
too civet-scented to do yourself. Strange — I remem- 
ber that name — ” 

He removed his huge cocked hat from his head and 
mopped his great red well-looking face. Raith thought 
that this was an auspicious moment for a confidence, 
which might in some degree prepare Captain Teddi- 
man’s mind for what was awaiting him above. 

“ It is a long story, sir,” he said, “ we have had 
trouble here with the prisoners, who managed yester- 
day to set fire to the guard-house. You may have 
heard some shooting. We were getting back those 
who had escaped.” 

“ Bless the lad,” cried the Captain, stamping, “ do 
not trouble me about your dirty psalm-singers. I am 
on the track of a gentleman. I tell you I have heard 
of this Captain Grif Rysland before — where was it } 
How was it } What sort of a man is he ” 

“About fifty, sir — a splendid soldier, sent here for 
killing a man who spoke slightingly of his daugh- 
ter ! ” said Raith, before whose eyes the vision of 
I vie rose, for the moment almost depriving him of 
speech. 

“Eh, ah,” grunted Captain George Teddiman, “yes 
— by Jove, I have it — a fighter and a brave man — put 
his sword through my cousin the Laird of Houston — 
unconscionable swilling rascal. Glad shall I be to 
shake him by the hand ! I have heard of him, a brave, 
a very brave fellow. I shall tell him that it would be 
doing me a great favour if he would only do just as 
much for Houston’s four brothers. Then I, George 
Teddiman, stand next in the Houston succession, and 


234 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


a snug anchorage it would be for an old salt with a 
great deal of gout and a very small pension.” 

So he went his way, leaning on the arm of the young 
officer, and it was not till he was more than half way 
up that he called Raith once more to his assistance. 

“ The daughter — the pretty daughter,” he demand- 
ed, “ is she with her father up there } ” 

“ No,” said Raith, carefully, “ I believe she is at 
present on the mainland with friends.” 

“Ah, a pity that, a manifest pity,” Captain Teddi- 
man grunted. “ I believe, Reggie, that we will not 
have a long time to remain. The ship is on a lee shore, 
sir. I do not like the anchorage. I must hasten, sir. 
But the girl — where has she gone } ” 

“ That I do not know,” said Raith, truthfully, “ she 
had an accident on the Bass — was blown by a whirl- 
wind from that rock yonder, and since that she has 
not, I believe, wished to return.” 

The Captain looked about him and shook his head. 
“ I do not wonder,” he said, “ I am of the young 
lady’s faction. The deck of a ship, now — that is level, 
and one does not get blown off it. She would be better 
there. To tell the truth, there is a sly old fox in our 
Navy office, one Mr. Samuel Pepys, he told me there 
never was such a girl for beauty as this mistress — what 
is her name — thank you, Ivie Rysland ! ” 

And so prattling on. Captain George Teddiman 
reached the heap of smoking ruins which was all that re- 
mained of the guard-room. Here he stood eyeing the 
confusion with uplifted hands. 

“ What have we here ” he cried, “battle, murder, 
and sudden death ? Where’s Captain Rysland ? 
Where is the governor.^” 

During Raith’ s absence the Simpson lads and the re- 
maining fishermen had covered the most traversable 
portion of the ruins with turf, on which they had laid 
boards. 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 235 


* The governor was hurt last night saving a wounded 
man out of the burning guard-house, sir,” said Raith, 
*‘he is waiting for you at the other side.” 

“ Go on in front,” cried Captain George Teddiman, 
hang me if I have scrambled up a place like this since 
I was a middy, and mastheaded for smoking tobacco.” 

Governor Grif seated on a chair was awaiting his visi- 
tor. He kept the upright position with considerable 
pain, but his bandaged hands and the difficulty he had 
in rising spoke for him. Another chair had been placed 
close alongside. Raith took in the new aspect of the 
Castle of the Bass at a glance. Save for the ruins of 
the fire which they had passed, and the haze of wood 
smoke in which the entire island was enveloped, all 
might have been as it was of old. The sentinel paced 
sedately and regularly up and down. The two Simp- 
sons mounted guard at either end. A face peered 
here and there from the prisoners’ cells. On the strip 
of green grass between the soldiers’ lodging and the 
prison, a mattress had been placed for Tyars. He 
held the key of the situation, and if he were false to 
his promise, they might expect to be hung man by man 
from the yard-arm of the Swiftsiire. 

The young officer spoken of as Reggie had turned 
at the entrance, upon seeing the small extent of the 
prison-yard. 

“ Stay where you are,” he had said, “ cutlasses out ! 
Carry ! ” 

It was only intended as a little bit of naval show, 
but to Raith glancing back, it had the aspect of a 
thundercloud. Not that he and his comrades could 
not account for these, but behind them were there not 
hundreds and hundreds of others, backed by all the 
great guns of a ship-of-the-line, ready to batter down 
the defences of the Bass stone by stone ! 

But when he looked again Captain George Teddi- 
man had taken his place peaceably beside Grif Rys- 


236 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

land. The naval officer had observed the stiff descent 
of the governor into his chair, and, being a kindly man, 
he suggested that a mattress in the shade would be 
more comfortable. 

So one was brought and on it Grif reclined, after 
begging the Captain’s pardon for being forced to re- 
ceive him in such a fashion. 

** George Teddiman, sir,” was the answer, “ George 
Teddiman has seen too many wounded men not to 
know how one ought to treat himself — so that he may 
the sooner be fit again for the service of the King — 
God bless him ! ” 

And off went the great cocked hat a second time. 

As was the custom in these early days of the disci- 
pline in a standing army, the sentry presented arms 
each time he passed and repassed the spot where the 
Captain of the Swiftsure conferred with Grif Rysland. 
The monotony of the performance irritated the 
seaman. 

Tell that whirling mountebank to confine himself 
to marching up and down,” he said sharply. Grif, a 
little shocked, gave the order. 

“It is our military custom,” he said, “in a little 
while you would no more notice it than I ! ” 

“ Very likely,” said Captain Teddiman, “ I know 
you for a good soldier, sir, and I am acquainted with 
the circumstances which have brought you here ! ” 

“ The devil you are ! ” said Grif Rysland, under his 
breath. He was intensely surprised, and could not 
for the life of him imagine what the captain of the 
man-of-war would say next. 

“ I mean,” he went on, “ the duel you fought with 
the Laird of Houston ! ” 

Once more Grif Rysland breathed freely. 

“Ah,” he said, for something to say, “ Captain Ted- 
diman is well informed.” 

“ No offence — no offence, sir, I trust,” said the 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 237 

Captain, ‘‘ I am an old seaman, but I have held a pis- 
tol or two on the sands in a quiet corner. I never 
could learn to be clever with the long hangers you use 
on shore. But they tell me it was a clean thrust right 
through his vitals that did Houston’s business. He 
was my first cousin, sir ! ” 

Startled in spite of himself, Grif Rysland looked at 
his neighbour with angry eyes. After all, was he not 
playing with him as a cat with a mouse } But the 
round red simplicity of the weather-beaten counte- 
nance reassured him. 

Your cousin. Captain Teddiman,” he stammered, 
“ I am sorry — I had not the least idea ! ” 

The Captain waved his hand largely and tolerantly. 
“ No offence,” he cried, “on the contrary, quite on 
the contrary, I do assure you. Lord, sir, if only you 
could have managed to put your weapon through the 
other four brothers — what a service you would have 
done me ! I suppose,” he added with a trifle of sad- 
ness, “ you had no cause of quarrel with them > ” 
“No,” mused Grif, “one of them was, I know, pres- 
ent on the occasion. He acted as my second or as 
his brother’s — I forget which.” 

The sea captain, amazed at his carelessness, turned 
sharply upon the soldier. 

“ Do you mean to tell me,” he cried, “ that you went 
into action without seconds of your own, in the com- 
pany of Houston and his brothers — that you took one 
of them for your second ? ” 

“ Really I did not notice — it might have been another 
man,” said Grif, “ I was in no danger. They were all 
militia officers — I of Colonel Grahame’s dragoons. 
Besides, my name was well known in these parts. It 
was an affair of a very few minutes ! ” 

“The matter, I am informed,” began again the 
Captain of the Swiftsure, “ a duel on account of — ” 

“ I think there is no reason for going into that 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


238 

now,” interrupted Grif Rysland, a little stiffly, look- 
ing straight at Captain Teddiman, “ whoever told you 
so much was likely to be well informed on that point 
also, and I must inform you that I gave the rascal 
three chances for his life.” 

‘'Too many by three, sir,” replied the ship’s cap- 
tain, “ you should have spitted him at the first pass, 
and then taken his brothers one by one. I am next 
in the succession, as I was telling that nephew of 
yours down below. If ever you should come across 
the Houstons and they had any desire to carry on the 
quarrel, you will not forget to do a good turn to an 
old sea-dog in search of a snug harbour — and — if I 
may say so of a good wife — yes, a good wife — not too 
old ! ” 

The emphasis with which he spoke these last words, 
and the knowing wink with which he accompanied 
them so astonished Grif, that he drew himself a little 
up on his couch with a grimace of involuntary pain. 

Captain Teddiman motioned to his young officer. 
“ Reggie,” he said, “ go and talk with the young man 
who met us at the landing-place down there. I have 
something to say to the Governor in private.” 

He waited till “ Reggie ” had gone off with an ex- 
ceeding ill grace, and then leaning towards Grif, he 
instantly began demonstrating with his finger vividly. 

“The circumstances are like this,” he said, “ I must 
tell you and yet I feel that I am taking a certain ad- 
vantage of a man on the breadth of his back. ’Tis 
not like George Teddiman so to do, but then the 
chance has come upon me unexpected, and, in fact a 
man was talking to me about it just as we left the 
Navy-yard.” 

Grif Ryslands head whirled. He wondered if in- 
deed his ears were hearing aright. He began to think 
that either he must be dreaming or that he had an 
affair with a madman. 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 239 

Faith,” continued the old sailor, “ what I said about 
the Houstons was in jest — or half jest and half earnest, 
like Yorkshire pudding. But this is wholly earnest, 
like English roast beef and a mug of Rochester beer. 
You have a daughter. Captain Rysland ? ” 

“ I have,” assented Grif, with a grim firming of 
the mouth. 

“ Well then,” said the Captain of the Swiftsurcy ** I 
am a plain man of mature years — no jackanapes like 
that Jack Houston, or any Houston of the lot of them. 
You won’t spit George Teddiman for what he is going 
to say. I am neither a rich man nor a poor man. I 
am captain of a first-rate, and — well they may need 
me by and by ! Now if your daughter be open to an 
honest man’s offer of marriage, I tell you, sir, I make 
it here and now ! ” 

“ But,” cried Grif in great astonishment, *‘you have 
never so much as seen my daughter ! ” 

“No, I have not,” said the Captain of H. M. S. 
SwiftsurCy “ but what of that in the navy ? I know 
one who has — aye, and a man whom I can trust bet- 
ter than myself when it is a matter of petticoats — a 
man of much experience and infinite judgment among 
womenkind, sir — Mr. Secretary Pepys of the Navy 
Board.” 

“ And what, in the name of the Seven Devils, knows 
Mr. Pepys of the Navy Board of my daughter .? ” Grif 
demanded, restraining himself with some considerable 
difficulty. 

“ Why, our Mr. Pepys, sir,” the seaman went on, 
“ is a great man, sir — most learned, and has a stone 
in his bladder about which he reads papers to all the 
greatest surgeons at the Royal Society. Also he is 
Secretary of the Admiralty, and indeed has new-made 
the service, fleet, office, Trinity and all — a very great 
man, sir ! ” 

“ But what has this great Mr. Pepys to do with my 


240 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


daughter ? ” demanded Grif, who was now sure that 
the man before him had a crack in his brain-case. 

Truth then, I tell you,” said Captain Teddiman. 
“ Mr. Pepys saw Mistress Ivie more than once when 
he was in Scotland with my Lord Duke of York — 
now most fortunately His Majesty the King — God 
bless him ! ” (Here was another flourish of the laced 
hat ! ) “He went down to the south to pay his 
respects to Colonel Graham and my Lord Nithsdale, 
and doubtless there was much talk about the beauty 
of your honourable daughter, sir. And if you will 
pardon an honest seaman — also concerning the length 
of your sword ! And Mr. Pepys told me that there 
was talk too, and that if she would only go to Court 
she would surely make her fortune. ' But Mr. Pepys, 
who is a sober man and demure, though of so great 
experience, ever asserted and maintained that the maid 
was the sweetest and honestest maid that ever was, 
and would make a man the best wife. Nay, Mr. 
Pepys even went so far as to say, that but for the fact 
that he rested under a vow to remain ever faithful to 
the memory of his sainted wife Elizabeth, he would 
have married her himself ! ” 

“ I am infinitely obliged to Mr. Pepys ! ” quoth Grif, 
drily. 

“ Nay, but it would have been an honour, sir — ^to 
any man — He so high in favour with the King and 
all — an honour for any man, a man of such excellent 
judgment, and experienced. Faith of Saint Charles 
the Blessed Martyr, but if I had fifty daughters 
Mr. Pepys might have them every one, and he would, 
sir ! ” 

“ But,” said Grif, who now began to observe from a 
distance the impatience of the younger naval officer, 
and saw that it would not be at all a bad thing to keep 
Captain George Teddiman in play as long as possible, 
“ you have not come to your own part in the matter. 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 241 

Surely as a prudent man you would never propose to 
wed a girl on the recommendation of another ? ” 

“Aye, that would I, sure-ly ! ” said Captain Teddi- 
man, “ that is, if the man were Mr. Samuel Pepys, of 
the Navy Office. Why, sir, his judgment of a ship 
alone is worth that of all the admirals of the fleet. 
See him just cock his head to the side, and. Lord, he 
can tell their gait to half-a-knot an hour ! And with 
women, sir, the very same ! A woman is like a ship, 
says he. Both take a lot of knowing, only it can’t be 
learnt. But some men have the gift — some not ! It 
is genius, plain genius — that’s what it is. They take 
one look at a woman, and can see her, truck to keels, 
stem to stern, all she has done, and all that she is 
going to do, the jilts and the posies alike, jiggling jills 
and soberly housemaidens. For myself I can no more 
tell them, than I can take hold o’ the moon and cut 
myself a slice o’ cheese. There was a little piece at 
Portsmouth — ah, but that tale will keep, eh. Captain ? 
Now, Mr. Pepys, sir, would never have made such a 
mistake. He sees more in ’em than a poor old sailor 
like me. And if your daughter will have me, why 
George Teddiman is ready, and there’s Teddiman 
Thorpe, not a great place like Houston, but a tidy 
little manor for all that, in the county of Chester, 
within sight of the Welsh hills — very much at her 
service and yours. Captain Rysland, on the plighted 
faith of an honest man and a friend of Mr. Secretary 
Pepys’s!” 

It is to be judged that Grif Rysland felt the com- 
plexity of his position at that moment, but he only 
reached out his hand to the Captain and said, “ Sir, 
you are a good man, and doubtless in excellent favour 
with the government. So I will not hide from you 
that I am, for the present at least, in some considera- 
ble disgrace, and perhaps likely to be in more — ” 

“Tut, tut,” cried the sailor, heartily, “that matter 
16 


242 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


of cousin Houston — it will blow over — never fear, lad. 
And then, what say you 

‘‘Captain Teddiman,” said Grif Rysland, “an hon- 
est man always deserves an honest answer. I am a 
soldier of fortune, sir. I cannot tell where fate may 
lead me or for whom my sword may fight, but I shall 
ever remember with pleasure your words — ” 

“And you will convey my request to Mistress I vie 
“ That I will do. Captain ! ” 

“ Bid her think it over, she might do worse, sir — a 
good old fellow, not ill-looking nor yet unserviceable — 
better than a score of young rakes, for ever gadding 
about, that I’ll swear ! The older they are, the more 
tender, like game hung up in the larder, sir ! That’s 
what Mr. Pepys says about lovers, sir, and a good judg- 
ment, to my mind. Then she has her husband under 
her hand, not for ever pestering her, but on deck when 
she calls for him, or wants a golden groat to buy the 
child a gown, as the saying is. And, by the way, 
please to mention that Teddiman Thorpe is a jaunty 
little manor, and if she will only say ‘ yes ’ to an old 
fellow that is ready to love her all his life on the 
recommend of Mr. Pepys of the Navy Board, she will 
never regret it, sir, and I would build her a parlour to 
the south from which she could see the fairies danc- 
ing on Moel Berwyn a-nights all the summer through ! ” 
By this time the fidgets of the young officer, who 
had been called Reggie, had become quite insupport- 
able. Flags were fluttering from the Siviftsiire which 
were evidently meant to have a meaning for him. He 
came up and saluted his superior officer. 

“ I beg your pardon, Captain Teddiman,” he said, 
“but there is a storm rising and they are getting 
anxious about you on the ship. There is, you will 
remember, but a poor landing-place here, and the coast 
behind is dangerous, reefs and half -covered rocks as 
far as one can see ! ” 


TEDDIMAN INSPECTS THE BASS 243 

Captain Teddiman rose with a jerk. 

** Indeed, I must be going,” he said — ** can I serve 
you in anything — a boat-load of provisions, anything 
of the sort ? Delighted ! And my report ? Let me 
see, doubtless you will make your own about the fire. 
So I need not mention that. But the prisoners, now 
— I suppose I had better take a look at them, just to 
be able to say they were all safe.” 

** Step this way, sir,” said Grif Rysland in a loud 
voice, who knew that the critical moment had now 
come. Your arm, Raith — my pistols ! ” 

And so quite slowly they made their way along the 
front of the cells. 

“ My wig, what an unholy set of ruffians! ” exclaimed 
Captain Teddiman, “ why, I had always thought your 
Covenanters were a poor feeble folk, somewhat hardly 
treated, like our Foxites. But these lowering rascals 
look as if they had all the sins in the decalogue to 
their credit.” 

“ Most of them have,” said Grif briefly. 

“Ah, here we are — at the end,” Captain Teddiman 
breathed a sigh of relief, “ give me your hand, Reggie. 
No, do not accompany me. I will not permit it — get 
to the sick bay, sir, and stay there. Your young man, 
Ellison, will do. That is his name — I shall not forget 
it. Fall in there, men. And, Captain Grif, do not 
forget my message to Mistress I vie. I swore to Mr. 
Pepys that I would do it some day, if ever I met you 
or the lady. And I would not dare to face him at the 
Admiralty if I had not ! A singular man — a man of 
insight, sir, women and ships, sir — women and ships — 
much the same — only a genius can tell ’em apart I 
Lord, I was never any judge — never set up to be I ” 

And so saying and occasionally stopping to pant 
and wave his hand on the steep slope. Captain George 
Teddiman completed to his own satisfaction the visi- 
tation and inspection of the Bass. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


GOOD-BYE TO THE BASS 

The promised two boat-loads of provisions were duly 
delivered, together with the Captain’s compliments to 
the Governor, a recommendation not to forget his 
promise, together with the added information that the 
arable area of Teddiman Thorpe was over four thou- 
sand acres, and the mansion house commodious, though 
sadly in need of repair, which the owner would see 
about at once. 

The Governor by the mouth of Raith reciprocated 
the good wishes of Captain Teddiman, and requested 
him to give himself no uneasiness about the fulfilment 
of his promise. The Governor of the Bass further 
wished Captain Teddiman a most prosperous voyage, 
and so these unusual courtesies between two high con- 
tracting parties came to an end. 

The Swiftsure sailed in an hour, standing fairly out 
to sea, to the infinite relief of the present inhabitants 
of the Bass, at least of as many of them as were able 
to enjoy the spectacle. 

After the last flutter of white had passed away to 
the northward, the prisoners, that is to say, the some- 
time garrison, were requested to turn to and carry up 
the provisions from the landing-place to the store- 
houses near the governor’s house. Raith and the two 
Simpson lads stood over them with loaded muskets as 
they worked. Only the Keely was left at home, still 
suffering from the broken head he had received from 
Raith’ s brass-shod butt. 


GOOD-BYE TO THE BASS 


245 


A council of war was called by Grif Rysland as soon 
as the gift of Captain Teddiman had been safely be- 
stowed. It was obvious that the sooner they rid the 
Bass of their presence, the better. But on the other 
hand they had undertaken certain responsibilities. 
They could not leave the garrison locked up in the 
cells, perhaps to perish of hunger. Yet they must 
have such a start as would prevent immediate pursuit. 
Furthermore, there was Tyars the Englishman to be 
thought of, who had rendered them such signal service. 

Grif interrogated his followers one by one as to their 
wishes. The Simpsons seemed to have no scruples 
or exigencies. They could, as they put it, “ fend for 
themselves.” They would, they thought, if no better 
might be, cast in their lot for a while with Allister 
and his mates, who on that wild shore led semi-lawless 
lives, with plenty to do and plenty to get. As for 
Raith, he would go where Grif went. It rested with 
the latter therefore to say what was to be the next 
move and when it was to be taken. 

The ex-governor of the Bass managed to hobble to 
where Tyars the Englishman lay still on his hard couch 
with a tankard of good English beer at his elbow. 

“ I thank you,” said Grif Rysland, “ I thank you for 
your silence as much as for your advice.” 

The Englishman smiled. 

“ I chose the best of two bads,” he said, “ I took 
your side, because you had saved me out of that fiery 
furnace there, when these drunken pigs left me to 
perish without a thought. Further than that I do not 
mix myself with your projects ! ” 

“ But,” cried Grif, “ we are evacuating the Island 
and could not leave you alone with the rascals of the 
garrison, if you thought they would attack you.” 

“ Attack me — pshaw,” said Tyers, “ why, I could 
fight a dozen like them, even on my back. But they 
know nothing. Listen : I have been wounded and 


246 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


helpless in your hands — so have they. Well, do you 
leave me here on the Bass, with the provisions, all the 
guns and ammunition you can spare, and I will under- 
take to hold the men of the garrison three days, with- 
out a word said, or a message sent. After that, I 
will fright them into flying for their lives, by the tale 
of how they themselves let down the prisoners with 
the flying crane, the night they were so drunk. They 
will never know the difference. At any rate the cells 
are empty, and they, or some of them, are manifestly 
responsible. Do not trouble. They will put as much 
ground as possible between themselves and the Bass, 
when they come to think over what I shall say to 
them. They are cowards all, except the Keely, and 
he has had enough of the Bass to serve him for one 
while. His head rings like a hive of bees ! ” 

** And for you, yourself, Tyars ? " demanded Grif, 
** what will you do ? ” 

** Oh, for me, I stand by the rock,” said the Eng- 
lishman, smiling. “ What have I done ? One rebel 
fires a ball into me. There it is in my shoulder to 
prove it. Some other fools and drunkards set the 
guard-house on fire while I lie wounded and nearly 
roast me alive. I have still more to show for that. 
Never fear, Maurice Tyars will have his tale pat long 
before any reinforcements arrive. Long-bodied John 
will bring me what I need, and lend me a hundred- 
weight of rock at my feet if I die. And who knows, 
when all get their own, I may be raised to honour be- 
cause of all this ! Go your ways, gentlemen. You are 
a good soldier. Captain Grif, and I wish you well — 
you too, Raith Ellison. But there is beer in the 
storeroom which will take a long time to drink, and 
being a simple man, I think I will go on standing by 
my duty.” 

And so he did, till the king stood no longer for him- 
self, but tripped it to St. Germain, and Maurice Tyars 


GOOD-BYE TO THE BASS 


247 


was still on the Bass, when, a second time, the prison- 
ers broke out and overcame the garrison, which, 
though a great tale, indeed, comes not into this. 

Things being so, there was nothing for it but to wait 
for night and the advent of Long-bodied John. But 
twilight came and presently night, yet with them no 
Long-bodied one, his boat nosing comfortable against 
the black rocks, controlled by a single sweep of his 
hand or an oar over the stern. 

Whereupon Allister, who most ardently desired to 
be gone, volunteered to cross in one of the skiffs which 
were kept on the rock, in order to find out what had 
become of the faithful messenger of Prayerful Peter. 
He started before ten o’clock, and it was close on one 
when there came a cry from below. During the in- 
terval they had seen Tyars safely installed in the store- 
house, where were all the ammunition, all the 
spirits, all the food. He had chosen from among the 
turnkeys one in whom he thought he could place some 
little confidence. 

** At least,” he said, “ I can fright the life out of him ! 
Of that I am certain.” 

And with the keys, all the loaded muskets and pis- 
tols at his elbow, and the only cunning brain on the 
island, it seemed a likely thing that Tyars would be 
able to carry through his programme. In the mean- 
time his chosen, Colvin, a soft rag of a man, a head- 
hanger by nature, promised most faithfully to pass the 
prisoners’ food and drink to and fro to them till the 
moment came for setting them free. 

Now it was time to say goodbye, and that part was 
perhaps more curious than all the rest. 

“ Captain,” said Tyars, “ I owe my life to you, and 
being a common man, perhaps I ought to say nothing.” 

Say on,” said Captain Grif, “ we all owe our lives 
to you ten times over.” 

Well, as a man, Captain,” said Tyars, “ I should 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


be proud to serve under you by sea or land, but as 
a Governor of this island and prison, I think you have 
failed from your duty ! ” 

“Ah, you think so, do you,” said Grif, calmly, 
“ well, I think differently and I know most about it. 
I have no time to explain, even were an explanation 
due. But if ever you and I meet, safe and well — I 
shall be proud to explain my conduct — either with 
pistol or with sword ! ” 

“ The sabre is my favourite weapon ! ” suggested 
Tyars, calmly. 

“ Very well then, I have no objections to the sabre,” 
quoth Grif Rysland. “ Goodnight to you.” 

“ Goodnight and good luck — till our next .” 

“ Explanation ! ” interjected Captain Grif, and was 
gone, leaning heavily on the arms of Raith Ellison and 
the younger Simpson. 

Down at the landing-place they found only Allister 
with his two comrades, both standing about him, look- 
ing very stricken and disconsolate. 

“ I cannot see any sign of Long-bodied John,” he 
said “ nor yet of his boat. So I had to run over to 
the Berwick shore and borrow Allan Donald’s. She 
is not so very roomy, but it is a clear night, and she 
will hold us all neatly.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE LETTER ON THE ROSE BUSH 

In the grey of the morning, before the rose flush to 
which, in the daft days when (as it seemed) nothing 
ever happened, Raith had compared Ivie’s lips, the 
boat drew into Cantie Bay. There, glimmering curi- 
ously close, was the white house, very still, and the 
shore along which, from the dullness of the cave, 
Raith had so often watched her walk. His mother 
would be there, and Euphrain — his father, too 
perhaps — ? 

A momentary flush of fear came over the lad as he 
wondered whether even now he would be forgiven. 
He knew that there was no greater yearning in his 
heart towards the grimness of his father’s faith. In 
that instinctive dislike he remained as he had been, a 
Gallio, caring for none of these things. But one thing 
he had learned in his troubles, that a man may not 
forsake his own folk, of whose blood he is, and the 
kindliness in which he has been reared. 

The boat came alongside the little pier, but there 
was no sign of Long-bodied John or of his boat. 
Prayerful Peter did not come sidling from the nearest 
shelter and spy-hole to explain things. Everywhere 
there was an uneasy silence, which oppressed even the 
sailor lads. 

<< Stay at the boat,” said Allister to one of his com- 
rades, silent youths, to whom long residence on the 
Bass among mocking and ribald turnkeys had made 
silence a habit.** I will run up to the cave ! ” 


250 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But Raith was before him, and Grif, but for his 
hurt, would have set out also. Raith Ellison ran 
along the little strip of beach, his feet slipping among 
the leathery star-fishes stranded by last month’s high 
tides. He sprang over Peter’s fence of tarred boards, 
ducked his head under Euphrain’s oak-tree, and was 
at the door. It swung loose on its hinges, and a pile 
of garments on the floor within caught his eye. A 
great fear of what he might see when he entered pos- 
sessed him. He pushed open the door, and beheld — 
only a rude hair-covered trunk with brass nails, the 
lid burst open by violence, and, strewed around, a 
quantity of women’s dresses and old pieces of clothing. 
It was evident that an attempt had been made to 
bring some things hastily together for transportation, 
but that an interruption had cut the work short, never 
to be renewed. 

Raith rushed to each of the rooms below stairs, 
without pausing to knock. Everything had been 
overturned. The feather beds and mattresses were 
stabbed through and through with swords. Many 
letters and fragments of letters lay about, some of 
them written in Gil’s hand, some in that of Beattie. 
He also found the main part of an address in Mr. 
Peden’s well-known writing, ** For Marjory Simpson, 
spouse to William Ellison of Mayfield, wheresoever 
she may be, by the grace of God, at present abid- 
mg. 

Up the ladder which rose within the little passage 
rushed Raith, now wild with fear. No I vie there — 
not a sign of his mother or Euphrain. The Bass 
prisoners, who were to have come here, what of them ? 
He dared not think. He was on the point of return- 
ing to the boat, when, in the dust of the trampled gar- 
den, among the pot-herbs which had been stamped 
out of existence, he saw a piece of paper quite unlike 
any of the rest. It was the leaf of a book and it stuck 


THE LETTER ON THE ROSE BUSH 251 


in the notch of a little rose-bush, as if placed there by 
design. 

He took it in his hand. It was unfortunately tom 
across, as if the writer there had been caught in the 
act, and the greater part altogether lost. 

But he read these words, in a handwriting which 
made Raith’s heart turn to water. It was but a little 
comer, roughly triangular, which remained. 

“ Lag,” was the first word clear and unmistakable. 
Then as the paper increased in size he read : “ With 

four officers revenge on my fath 

horses to carry us off where are you 

Ivie” 

Like a man walking in a dream Raith took his way 
back to the boat. He found every one disembarked, 
waiting for news. Grif Rysland was sitting on a little 
sea-weedy rock gazing at the Bass, which now loomed 
up clear through the haze of morning. There was a 
thin mist about it, perfectly blue and distinct, lifting 
and vanishing with the coming day. 

** They are gone ! ” saith Raith, hurriedly. “ All — 
all — everything has been turned over. But I found 
this ! ” 

He thrust the paper into Grif’s hand. 

Ivie’s handwriting ! ” the Captain said slowly, 
“ knitting his brows to take in the meaning of the 
snatches, “ where got you this ? ” 

** Outside, stuck on a rose-bush ! ” said Raith. 

Ah,” said the elder man, we must go back. If 
Ivie had time to write that, perhaps the others — 
Euphrain — might also have left a message.” 

“ The others — Euphrain — } ” Raith had hardly 
thought of that. 

“ But we have no time,” we must pursue — at least 
I must—.” 

It seemed that he must instantly start upon the 
trail, without preparation, like a dog put on a scent. 


252 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But his chief’s words recalled him to his duty. 

“ That is impossible,” said Grif, brusquely, ‘‘ first 
we must find out all that can be learned at the cot- 
tage. Then we will hear what Allister has to say 
about the cave above. After that we will take council 
together. Remember, Raith, these lads have their 
own troubles as well as we. They have risked them- 
selves already more than any could have expected of 
them. This affair is ours — yours and mine. And I, 
alas, for the time being am worse than useless in a 
chase. We must go cunningly, therefore, not like a 
bull at a gate.” 

All the same the rest had done Grif good, and now 
he took Raith’s arm and moved towards the cottage 
with much less difficulty than he had shown in descend- 
ing the cliff to the landing-place of the Bass. 

Captain Rysland who, as Sergeant Major, had seen 
many military perquisitions in Scotland, at once an- 
nounced that this was not an affair with which the 
government or the regular troops had anything to do. 

private vengeance,” he said, meditatively, “but 
whose } Lag I hardly know — yet we must suppose 
it was either he, or some of the friends of the Laird 
of Houston.” 

“ She says — Lag — plainly,” said Raith despondently, 
as he looked at the three letters which the familiar 
name of the great rough-riding, cruelty-mongering 
persecutor of Scotland, “ there can be nothing worse 
than that ! ” 

“ Courage,” said Grif Rysland, “ there is more here 
than meets the eye. Four officers, Ivie says, with 
Lag. I know all the officers who are in Scotland — 
Windram, Inglis, Theo. Ogilthorpe, Douglas, Fraser, 
not to speak of the Grahames. Not one of them would 
associate with Lag if he could help it, an it were not 
that devil Peter Inglis ! If it were any from among 
the regiments, it would be he. But more likely they 


THE LETTER ON THE ROSE BUSH 253 

were all of the militia, like Lag himself. Now seek 
carefully both above and below stairs.” 

As he searched Raith reported the facts, while Grif 
commented and drew the conclusions. The beds, 
though stabbed through and through, had not other- 
wise been disturbed. Therefore the seizure had taken 
place in the dusk of the evening towards bedtime. 
The supper had been partaken of, but not cleared 
completely away. At least, from the broken platters 
and dirty crockery lying about everywhere, it was evi- 
dent that some of the captors had assisted copiously 
at the feast. Nothing belonging to Old Peter was 
found — that ancient fox kept all things compromising 
in more distant hiding-places than his white cottage 
on the shores of Cantie Bay. 

Of Ivie’s letter nothing more could be discovered. 

Whoever saw the letter, had jerked it off the rose- 
bush and thrust the rest into his pocket, instead of 
tearing it into fragments and scattering it about. 

The added information was not much, but it must 
suffice. By a careful sifting of all that could be gained 
from the aspect of the cottage of Prayerful Peter, Grif 
came to the following conclusions. First, the escaped 
prisoners had been warned in time, possibly by lights 
seen moving on the shore or about the cot, on the 
night of the liberation of the Ellisons and Mr. Peden. 
No trace whatever of their passage could be found. 
On the whole from a careful comparison of tracks 
leading to and from the cottage, Grif was of opinion 
that not more than a dozen horses had come and 
gone. Leaving three for the women, and putting 
Prayerful Peter out of account, that gave nine men at 
most as concerned in the carrying off. 

Some may have been spare horses,” said the old 
soldier, shrewdly. “ I have no enemies nearer than the 
dales of Nith and Annan, near to which Lag has 
property. And it is certain that coming so far they 


254 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


would bring a relay over and above, in the case of any 
of the carrying horses going lame ! At least, that is 
what I should have advised had I been concerned in 
such a business ! ” 

But,” said Raith, “ Ivie only mentions five men — ” 

** I know — I know,” said Grif, impatiently thinking 
forward, rejecting this and weighing the other, “ but 
we have only a corner of the letter Ivie wrote. Be- 
sides, she mentions Lag — it may be himself in person, 
or more probably some retainer of his, armed with 
the authority of his master. But gentlemen and offi- 
cers, even if only of the territorial forces, do not lead 
and feed horses. Depend upon it there were one or 
two attendants for that purpose — let us say six or 
seven for the whole number of those in the business.” 

Raith was silent, his mind a prey to the most terri- 
ble thoughts. Grif, with a pale determined face, put 
out a kindly hand and patted him reassuringly on the 
shoulder. 

** If it is for Ivie you fear, be reassured,” he said, 
“ also I think for the others. But if it be an affair of 
vengeance against us, they must have taken your 
mother and sister because they were found in the 
same house with my daughter. They might very 
likely know the men, and at any rate could not be 
left with the power of giving information. The force- 
ful carrying off of the women, even in times of trouble, 
has never been lightly treated by the law of Scotland.” 

“ And — if it were Ivie } ” said Raith, in a hoarse 
voice. 

“ If it were Ivie they sought — ,” Grif mused a little, 
** well, in that case, the men know me. Rob Grier of 
Lag does, at all events. They would know me, I say. 
And so long as they knew that Ivie Rysland’s father 
was in the same world with them, I do not think she 
has anything very terrible to fear.” 

Then all at once the remembrance of his interview 


THE LETTER ON THE ROSE BUSH 255 

with Captain George Teddiman came over him, as the 
captain of the Swiftsure had sat looking down on the 
smooth waters of the Firth. 

“ I have it ! ” he cried. ** The Laird of Houston ! 
Had he not four brothers. The captain of the Swift- 
sure said so. Do you know ? ” 

I have heard tell so,” said Raith, to whom noth- 
ing of the Captain’s conversation had been communi- 
cated. 

Grif clapped his hands as one who finds a treasure, 
and his face looked a little less drawn. 

“ That is it,” he said, “ Lag and the young Hous- 
tons. They are all of one clan. In truth. Captain 
George Teddiman, if I get my hands on your good 
cousins, the Houstons, and it turns out as I think, why 
then, you have a chance of succeeding yet to the 
Houston estates ! ” 

The comfort was cold, certainly, but it was the best 
the two men could discover at the moment, and they 
had therewith to be content. 

Just then Allister came along the beach in haste. 
Well } ” said his ex-chief as he approached, ** what 
news of the coves ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Allister, “ no one has been near 
them. The boat with Mr. Peden and the others must 
have been afraid to land. I went over to Old Peter 
Paton’s lie-up on the other side of the Castle of Tan- 
tallon, and to one or two other little hidie-holes that he 
has. But no one has been there. All was safe and 
in good order. Only — the lads must have gotten an 
unco scare. I’ll be bound for that. They will have 
gone away to the southart. Maybe they will have 
put ashore about Coudenham or St. Abbs — some 
place where there will no be ower mony folk to look 
on!” 

It was only a mile or two over the fields to the 
farm of Nether Barn ton, and one of the Simpsons was 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


256 

soon back. Knowing the country he had run at full 
speed all the way, without exposing himself. But he 
also brought no news. All was quiet at his father’s. 
They knew nothing there of the prisoners, who, as 
Allister said, must have held away to the south by 
sea, nor yet anything of the late tenants of Prayerful 
Peter’s cottage at Cantie Bay. On coming back, how- 
ever, Archie Simpson had encountered one of his 
father’s herds, who had come across the trail of “an 
awesome pack o’ muckle horses haudin’ away for Gif- 
ford and Stow.” 

“ They be nane blate (continued the shepherd), for 
they gaed richt through standin’ corn and ilke thing 
that stood in their road — either tinklers or right high 
gentrice they maun hae been ! ” 

This on the whole was the most valuable informa- 
tion which had been obtained, and Grif made his com- 
pliments to Archie Simpson upon it. 

“ It is evident,” he said to Raith Ellison, “ that the 
fellows have come quietly along the shore road from 
Edinburgh. As far as Cantie Bay they were merely 
so many gentlemen travelling for pleasure. But once 
their coup made, and the net filled, they were com- 
pelled to strike for the south by the least frequented 
routes. What we have to do, lad, is to follow them 
as fast as we can.” 

But that, considering Captain Grif’s injuries, was a 
thing so difficult of accomplishment that it seemed all 
but impossible. It was, curiously enough, the more 
silent of the two Simpson lads who shed the first ray 
of hope on the problem. 

“ Sir,” said James Simpson, “ we are in for a penny 
and are quite prepared to make it a pound. It will 
be well for us to lie quiet and see what comes of our 
doings on the Bass. Neither Archie nor I want to mix 
my father up with these matters any more than we 
can help. We have meant to go with Allister for a 


THE LETTER ON THE ROSE BUSH 257 

while, and perhaps help him to find Long-bodied Jack 
Baton and the boat load of prisoners. But if the 
rogues have carried off our father’s sister and our 
cousin Euphrain — why, it will be more to the purpose 
if we come and help to find them — that is, if you will 
accept of us.” 

Yes,” said Archie, “and our father will give us a 
horse apiece for the asking. And oh, the Peat-barrow, 
as we call him, would just be the easiest beast if so 
be you could sit on the saddle at all, Captain Grif. 
He carries my mother to the kirk, and gangs that 
steady, ye could stand on the saddle with one foot in 
your hand all the way ! ” 

That was, in fact, the best arrangement possible, 
and Grif, with his mind set on the journey, was not 
long in discovering that with care, frequent rests, and 
judicious treatment of his burns, he might possibly 
begin the pursuit upon Mistress Simpson’s ignomin- 
iously named Sabbath-day palfrey. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


lag’s raid 

It was the evening of the attempt upon the Bass. 
The men had all gone hours before — those who were 
to take part in the assault on the Bass down the coast 
towards North Tynemouth, from a certain wild and 
sheltered cove between which and Tantallon John 
Baton’s boats were to proceed, to avoid a troopment 
of people in so public a spot as the sea-front of Cantie 
Bay. As for Prayerful Peter, he betook himself over 
to Linton to ask the commander of the troops sta- 
tioned there if he were haply in need of any good Hol- 
lands, and so, in case of any inquiry, that he might 
have an alibi of the most superior sort under his 
hand. 

But the women abode still in the house, as is 
mostly the case with women. As it dusked, Ivie and 
Marjory Simpson remained within talking together. 
The love that had grown up between these two was 
wonderful, as Marjory Simpson said, “passing the 
love of men — ” an article greatly overrated, so she 
declared. 

But of this Ivie was not so sure and said so. 

“ That is because you are young, bairn,” said Mar- 
jory, smiling indulgently. 

“ And did you think so when you were young } ” 
demanded Ivie with an answering smile. 

“ Maybe, no — maybe, no — ” answered the elder 
woman, more seriously, “ ‘ my sins and faults of youth, 
do thou, O Lord, forget ’ — That is a bonny prayer 


LAG’S RAID 


259 


that we shall all need to put up one day. But then 
the young and the fair, like you, Ivie lass, never think 
of that. And maybe it is as weel ! ” 

“ I know I have been often foolish,” said Ivie, but 
left the rest of the sentence unachieved, as she had a 
trick of doing. The time for sincere penitence for 
her “ faults of youth ” was not yet. 

Euphrain was still without, and her mother, growing 
vaguely unquiet, rose and went to the door to look 
after her. The girl was standing under the dwarf oak 
in the comer of the little fisher-folks* garden. She 
was not looking towards the Bass, the spot to which 
her mother instinctively turned her eyes. She gazed 
instead fixedly into the south, in the direction which 
the boats had taken. Her mother stepped out of the 
cottage door and walking softly, went and touched her 
on the arm. 

“ What are you thinking of, Euphrain ? ” she said, 
gently. 

The girl’s pale grave face took on a sudden flush, 
and she replied, “ Of nothing, mother, I was only re- 
membering that they would be getting ready the boats 
now.” 

‘^God help them, and guide him safely back. He 
is a light to the blind, and feet to them that walk in 
darkness. And gie me my man again, if it be Thy 
will ! ” 

Marjory Simpson’s prayers were short always. 
Seldom did she kneel to say them. Perhaps they re- 
sembled most those of the publican in the temple. 
Her husband and Mr. Peden would wear away a flat 
stone in their closets with their knees. They would 
spend whole nights in crying. And in this they were 
deeply earnest. It was of their kind and time and 
country. But in Marjory’s “cauldrife East,” as her 
husband called it, where most of the ministers had 
long ago “ conformed,” and where there were no 


26 o 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“blowings of the trumpet on the mountains,” nor any 
slaughtering of the saints of dykeback — there was yet 
a true and real type of piety — Marjory Simpson’s 
kind. 

And so her brief prayer was said. She repeated 
the last phrase only, as if it were a precious thing 
apart, which she could not let her God overlook. 

“ And^ Lordy gie me my ahi man back to me — to 
myseV ! ” 

Suddenly Euphrain, keen of ear, and of an anxious 
heart, cried out, “ Oh, mother — look yonder 1 ” 

She pointed up the little steep road by which the 
cottage of Cantie Bay communicated with the cliffs 
above. There was still a certain brightness all along 
the west, an orange hue that lingered long merging 
at last into a smoky red, of fuller tone than the prim- 
rose and rose-leaf of the morning — a hint of storm in 
it too. 

But for all these things, lovely as they were, Eu- 
phrain had no eyes. What she saw and pointed out to 
her mother was a group of horsemen black against 
the dulling gold of evening. There seemed to be at 
least a dozen of them. For some had dismounted as 
if to make the descent, while certain others led each 
a couple of horses. The group stood clear and cleanly 
revealed, and then the moment after all scattered and 
began to descend. 

“ They are coming hither,” said Marjory, “ run to 
the quay and put out the lantern.” 

This was a little light which was to be the signal 
that all was safe for the landing, if the attempt to 
release the prisoners should have succeeded. 

Euphrain flew, as she was told, and not only did 
she extinguish the lantern, but she tossed it into the 
harbour, to the great future indignation and anger of 
Prayerful Peter to whom the article belonged. He 
found it afterwards and spent hours in polishing it 


LAG’S RAID 


261 


secretly, but as it figured in his bill of charges, it 
seemed to be of solid silver. 

Marjory Simpson went back to the house, where 
she was presently rejoined by Euphrain. At first 
there was thought of flight, but the secret of the cove 
above had never been revealed to them. It had not 
been thought to be necessary or even desirable. 
Mistress Ellison was living quietly at Cantie Bay and 
it was hardly likely that the government would trouble 
itself about two women so far from home, and so free 
from offence. 

But before there was time for them to make up 
their mind in what direction to flee, five men rode up 
to the cottage door, having taken the steep descent of 
the cliff easily and without halting. 

The leader was a tall man, red of face, well formed, 
of thirty years of age but looking older. Marjory 
Simpson knew him at the first glance. 

“ Robert Grier of Lag,” she exclaimed, so loud that 
the man himself heard, “ then God be merciful to us ! ” 

Maybe — maybe, goodwife of Mayfield,” he said, 
setting his hand palm downwards on his thigh. ‘‘ I and 
my friends here have come from Rockall, a long gate 
to pay you a little visit. It has been credibly reported 
to us that ye have one with you — nay, two, whom it 
will be for the good of the state to lay safely by the 
heels.” 

I know not of whom you speak,” said Marjory 
Simpson, “ there is no one here except my daughter 
and this young maid.” 

Well, perhaps, either of these young women may 
be able to enlighten us on the whereabouts of a certain 
Grif Rysland, whom we are seeking. He is an escaped 
murderer, and I have come from Edinburgh where he 
was seen lurking several days ago. We have traced 
him to this place. • And (here he bent nearer to Ivie, 
who shrank from his fierce and brutal face thrust into 


262 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


hers) is not this pretty Mistress Rysland, the daughter 
of the very man we are after ? ” 

My name is Ivie Rysland,” answered the girl, 
proudly, “ I am Grif Rysland’s daughter.” 

** Then where is your father ^ ” demanded Lag in 
a loud and truculent voice ? 

‘‘ That I do not know,” said Ivie, very quickly. 

** Bless me — they have made quite a psalm-singer of 
you,” cried Lag, “ you have their very answer pat as 
butter. I had heard better of you than that. But, 
never fear, we have ways and means with pretty 
reluctant maids, Whigs or jigs — there is the match 
between the fingers that burns slowly to the bone — 
or a couple of cords around your pretty thumbs and, 
hey ! up to the ceiling with you. You would never 
believe how heavy you weigh, for all that jimp wrist of 
yours. And yonder is Roddie Naughton, behind there, 
with a pair of thumbikins in his pocket ” 

“That will do. Lag,” said the elder of the other 
four, “ there is not the least need for it to come to 
that. My dear, tell us if you have seen your father, 
where and at what time, and I promise you that no 
ill shall befall you.” 

For a moment Lag looked sulky, but evidently the 
new speaker had some hold over him, for from that 
moment he grew much less blusterous. He contented 
himself with ordering Roddie Naughton, his body 
servant, and three other young fellows who accom- 
panied him (who indeed resembled rather the personal 
retainers of a powerful laird than regular dragoons) to 
search the cottage from roof to doorstep, with a tor- 
rent of imprecation upon their heads if they missed 
their man. 

“ My father,” Ivie answered, steadily and calmly, 
“has gone away. He stayed with us certain days 
after he had been in Edinburgh. But he departed 
towards the south this very morning and I have no 


LAG’S RAID 263 

idea what was his destination. He did not speak of 
it to any here ! ” 

‘‘ They all lie,” said Lag. The only way is to 
make them speak. We have the art in Galloway, as 
my kinswoman here can tell you.” 

“ Indeed,” said Marjory Simson, with the softest 
grace in the world, “ I can have no claim to be a kins- 
woman of the Laird of Lag save through my husband, 
whom he has made a prisoner in the Bass yonder, 
along with my son Gill, while Murdoch, my other 
son, is indebted to this same kinsman for a quiet rest- 
ing-grave ” 

“Aye, aye, goodwife,” interrupted Lag, “and your 
youngest son, Raith, by our latest despatches was still 
wearing the King’s coat and persecuting the saints on 
his own account — while, here (he pulled from his pocket 
a letter) is a screed in the clerkly hand of that sweet 
plant of grace, Mr. Beattie Ellison, who, under the 
fostering care of my Lord of St. Andrews goeth fast 
and far on his way to a bishopric.” 

The man who had interrupted Lag before laughed 
lightly at this. It was better than talk of torture and 
thumbiking “ It is of no use to torment the poor 
woman,’' he said, “ if the man has escaped us, we must 
e’en take what we can get. The women must come 
with us. And I know more than one of my young 
men who will envy us the company of pretty Mistress 
I vie here, to say nothing of this moorland posy. Hey, 
Roddie, lad, no word of the old bird up above ? ” 

“ Neither hilt nor hair, my Lord, high nor low,” 
said Roddie, “ we have tumbled everything and looked 
at all the letters. They are naught but “ Pray-foi*- 
poor-auld-Scotland ” and “ Woe-is-me-for-a-deceitful- 
heart ” — mostly written from the Bass ! Not a line 
from the fist of Grif Rysland, which I know very well, 
as indeed I should, having stood his abuse for three 
years ! ” 


264 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** Ah, then,” said the other, “ I must ask these 
ladies to make preparations for departure as quickly 
as may be. We have no time to lose, and the horses 
have far to go before the morning ! ” 

But Lag motioned the speaker a little apart, and 
with him the three other young men in the dress of 
officers. 

“ My Lord,” he said, why burden ourselves with 
the old dame > She can do no harm here. She only 
knows me, and Robert Grier is every man’s craw- 
bogle. His character is past praying for in this 
realm. It cannot be hurt. Take the pretty wench, I 
say, and the other also, for this young fool at my elbow 
hath taken a notion to make the acquaintance of the 
pale Puritan from the mosshags of Mayfield. He 
thinks that perhaps he might find something to say to 
her by the way, that would make her look less whey- 
faced ! Heaven speed him. She has great need. 
But for the old dame — what use is there ? She will 
only hamper us ! ” 

The man who had been addressed as “ My Lord ” 
and whose attire was of a conspicuous plainness as 
compared with that of the militia officers, held on his 
hand to enforce silence. 

“ You are a fool. Lag,” he said. “ I tell you these 
are not your fine damsels that need but a ‘ Marry- 
come-up ’ to join your revels. There are few in any 
land to be compared with in beauty with Mistress Ivie 
— that I can swear to — ” 

Lag threw up his head and whistled mockingly. 

“ So my Lord is caught also ? ” he said, “ and pray 
in that case what will become of our poor Steevie 
here, on whose behalf we were acting, and who was to 
combine at once love and revenge } ” 

“ Let Steevie do the best he can for himself,” said 
My Lord, “ but mind you, I will have no insolence or 
inffignities. Hear ye that, Robert Grier and your tail ! 


LAG’S RAID 


265 


None of your Galloway flailing ! These may be law- 
ful prize of war, but you cannot charge them either 
with Pentland or Bothwell Brig ! And an elder 
woman in the party will give the youngest ones con- 
fidence. There is both sense and experience in that.” 

In five minutes more the three women were mounted, 
a man at the head of each beast guiding them care- 
fully up the steep road. Just as they won to the top, 
a great white light sprang up on the Bass, mounting 
high into the sky, and illuminating the wide dusky 
plateau over which they were to ride, reddening the 
vast gloomy ruins of Tantallon which they kept on 
their left hand. It was the light from the burning 
gate-house of the main-guard. The first boat with the 
released prisoners was already well on its way, but now 
there was no welcoming lantern on the little pier above 
Cantie Bay. Well was it that Euphrain had cast it 
into the harbour, or Robert Grier of Lag and his 
friend might have made a capture that night which 
they little dreamed of. 

As it was, they rode steadily to the south, altogether 
silent, avoiding town and clattering rapidly through 
villages, fording rivers at prearranged places, with the 
three women in the midst of their cavalcade — Ivie, 
Euphrain, and Marjory Simpson, the mother and stay 
of both. 

And the only comfort in Ivie’s heart was the thought 
that when her father and Raith should come and look 
for her, they (he) would surely find the hasty letter 
she had scribbled on her knee, as she went upstairs to 
fetch her cloak. She did not know that My Lord had 
it in his pocket, and that no more than a scrap was 
left adhering to the spines of the rose-bush. 

But then, to even things a little. My Lord knew 
just as little about the remaining scrap. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


HOUSTON-IN-THE-HOLLOW 

It was on the third day, towards evening, that the 
three women, almost so over-weary as to be unconscious 
of themselves, were commanded to dismount in front 
of a tall old grey-stone house with many gables and 
turrets. It was situated near the sea-side, for though 
she could not catch a glimpse of the sea, Ivie had felt 
the soft pad of sand under her horse’s feet only a few 
minutes before. Also she had smelt the tang of a salt 
sea-weedy shore, and the air had freshened momentarily 
ere they turned. 

But the house itself stood far back from the beach. 
They made their way in the deepening twilight up a 
narrow gully. Ivie could see that it was wooded to 
the top on either side, the bare white cliffs showing 
bleached and ghastly in the gloaming dusk. Then all 
at once they came upon the steep wall of a cliff, all 
overgrown with little bushes and chance-rooted birches 
and pines. The place was a manifest cul-de-sac. 
There was no further route for any horse, and if the 
cliff was scalable for human foot, it did not look so in 
the twilight. The cliffs seemed to reach almost to the 
zenith, and to rub out Cassiopeia herself. 

They had stayed to rest during the day at unknown 
farm-houses, surrounding them with their armed fol- 
lowers, driving all the inhabitants into the barn or byre, 
setting a single guard with a musket over them there 
and adding to the number of prisoners all who ap- 
proached during their period of sojourn. This being 


HOUSTON-IN-THE-HOLLOW 267 

accomplished My Lord and his party took possession 
of the house — the troopers and servitors contenting 
themselves with the stables. A room was set apart 
for the three women. Food was served, mostly only 
porridge and milk, made of dark-coloured poorly-ground 
moorland meal, for they never stopped near a town or 
in the richer and more thickly populated parts of the 
country. 

Thus they had come to their journey’s end. My 
Lord (of whose name they were still ignorant) hastened 
with well-bred gravity to assist them to dismount. But 
the young man, slight and dark, who had been called 
Steevie, was already at Ivie’s stirrup. He had shown 
himself throughout the journey careful for her wants, 
and of a delicacy which the others, with their loud 
voices and rough ways, altogether lacked. 

‘‘ Chambers have been prepared for you,” said My 
Lord. “ I trust that you will have no reason to com- 
plain. For me, I must bid you good-night. I have a 
little farther to go, though not far. I hope to have 
the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow at latest, also of 
learning from your own lips that you find your confine- 
ment here as little irksome as possible.” 

It was with no little fear that the women saw him 
depart. He was evidently the man among them who 
could, by his presence, best protect them from the 
brutality of Lag and this lawless crew. And indeed it 
was not long before they found out the difference 
which the restraint of his presence had made. 

They were shown by a sullen old woman, keen-eyed 
however, and with hair thin and white but very 
smoothly braided, to a large upper chamber. 

“ This,” she said, ** is to accommodate the young 
lady! ” She grinned as she nodded towards I vie. ** And 
you two,” she added, unceremoniously, ** not having 
been expected, must go a story higher I ” 

But at this Ivie cried out instantly. She would not 


268 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


on any consideration be separated from her friends 
and companions. They would all stay here perfectly 
well. The room was large. There was a couch which 
let down in the Scottish manner, the panels being 
carved of ancient black oak. I vie would gladly take 
that for herself. 

The old woman shook her head doubtfully. 

“ I canna tell,” she said, beggars manna be choosers. 
Ye are no mistress o’ this hoose that I hae heard tell 
o’ ! There has been a heap o’ trouble bringin’ ye here, 
bonny lass, and noo ye will hae to be a guid bairn and 
do as ye are telled — or My Lord and Steevie, no to 
mention Sir Robert, will ken the reason why ! ” 

She went down stairs, and after the women had sat 
and listened disconsolately enough to the loud clangour 
of excited voices beneath them, they heard steps come 
out on the hall. There were the sounds of a violent 
quarrel. 

** I tell you I will have my way,” cried a voice which 
was evidently that of Lag. “ I have put up with My 
Lord’s megrims because he is My Lord, but I’ll be 
hanged, drawn, and quartered if Robert Grier will be 
your lap-dog, Steevie Houston, after going as far out 
of my way to serve you in your revenge ! ” 

“The house is mine,” said another voice, in a tone 
less hectoring, “ my revenge, such as it is, is to my- 
self. And if you have helped me, my brother and I 
too have helped you many a time when your purse 
was emptier than it is today, when it runs over with 
the fines of all the Whigs in three counties !” 

Ivie recognized the voice of the dark slender young 
man who had been kind to her upon the journey. She 
sighed as the matter grew clear to her. Her father 
had slain this man’s brother. The motive then, was 
clearly revenge. 

“ Hey day,” cried Lag, “ what a pother about a two- 
penny jilt. Why, she cast her eyes about her freely 


HOUSTONJN-THE-HOLLOW 269 

enough when she was down by Cluden side. I myself 
— not to speak of your brother — ” 

“ He lied and you lie,” cried the second voice, 
fiercer than before, “ only he died for it like a man — 
as you may yet, if you keep not a more civil tongue 
in your head ! ” 

“And pray by whose hand am I to perish.?” re-» 
torted Lag, with mockery. “ I hope that you do not 
flatter yourself, Steevie Houston, that you are the 
man to stand up to Robert Grier .? If you do, pray 
step out. Roddie and his mates will get a few torches 
and the courtyard is wide enough.” 

“ I am at your service,” said the voice, “ I do not 
fear you or any man that walks the earth.” 

“ Ah, Grif Rysland ? ” suggested Lag, sneeringly. 
“ You saw his blade stick a hand’s breadth out of 
poor Tom’s back, and yet you stand there and snivel 
and cavil like a Whig and a coward about that man’s 
daughter. Try her, man — try her. I’ll wager the 
girl has more spirit than you have — aye, and will be 
glad of our company at supper this night, instead of 
being shut up in a room with a couple of praying 
Whiggamore Jennies and a single candle to light them 
to their prayers.” 

“ She will not. I will go surety for her,” said Steeve 
Houston, for so the conversation had sufficiently de- 
fined him. “ Did you not hear the answer which old 
Sue Fairfoul brought down ? ” 

“ I heard,” said Lag, “ but that was because the 
others were with her. See here, I have in my hand 
enough evidence to drown this Marjory Ellison and 
her daughter, even as my brother Davie did the cant- 
ing women at Wigtown. There are stakes down by 
the salmon-nets yonder, as good and firm as those in 
the Blednoch, and by my faith and word if you do not 
have the spirit of a man and bid the lass come down 
to sup with us this night I will drown the old hag and 


270 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


the young, tomorrow in the morning, though the Elli- 
sons were my blood-kin half a dozen times over ! ” 

“ And My Lord — said Steevie Houston, ** what 
will you answer to him ? ” 

Oh,” cried Lag, ** what I have answered before, I 
will answer again — that it is a pity, but the thing is 
done. I tell you, neither My Lord, nor yet the gov- 
ernment of London can do without Robert Grier. No, 
nor will they for many years, till there is not a black 
Whig in Galloway, nor a Whig’s canting wife, nor a 
Whig’s mealy-mouthed daughter — ” 

I shall have a word to say to that last,” it was a 
new voice which struck in now, I see naught amiss 
with the maid Ellison, and that I tell you to your 
face ! ” 

‘‘ Ho, dish-clout ! ” roared Lag, laughing and angry at 
once. ** Steevie is good enough, and he may have to 
answer it in the morning if my anger holds, and his 
wench obeys not the summons. But you, sirrah, get 
you gone or I will wring your bairn’s neck like a three- 
weeks’ old pullet. Brief, by all the rents and mails of 
Lag and Rockall, by all the Whig fines I ever lifted 
or hope to lift, if this pretty sham Whiggie of yours 
does not come to supper with us tonight, I swear to 
take out both the old and the young Ellison in the 
morning — both old cow and the young quey, and I will 
; ' drown them in Sol way-tide an hour before high water. 
i They have intercommuned. They have conventicled. 
/ They have fathers and brothers who have fought 
' / . against the King. They have both written and spoken 
treason. In fine, I swear to do it, cost what it will, 
and come what may. After all, it is only for Mistress 
Roselips that My Lord cares a button.” 

The door slammed. There were no more words on 
the landing below, only the sound of a pair of feet 
coming up towards the room which the three women 
still occupied together. Ivie, pale and determined. 


HOUSTON-IN-THE-HOLLOW 


271 


had risen, and now stood near the window. She 
seemed to be busied changing the position of some 
weapon covered with a dark leather sheath. She had 
taken it from her garter and now put it carefully in 
her bosom. Marjory Simpson, sitting in her chair, 
saw the light of the solitary candle glint on an inch of 
steel, as the girl tried a spring to see that the blade 
slid easily. 

It was the young man who had been called Steeve 
Houston who stood at the door. He was tall, slight, 
and dark, with a pale and delicate face, very different 
from those robustious riders, drinkers, and shouters 
of catches, his brothers according to the flesh. 
Though now the eldest of the Houston family and the 
heir of his dead brother, he yet looked the youngest 
by a dozen years. 

“ I ask your pardon, ladies,” he began, “ but I am 
commissioned to ask if any of you — if Mistress Ivie 
Rysland in particular, would accept of our poor hasty 
hospitality. I know it must be a thing repellent, after 
the way you must think yourself treated. But — but — 
if you would — I think it might be wiser. Sir Robert 
is much set upon it. He is a dangerous enemy — so if 
one of you — ” 

** Certainly I will come ! ” said Ivie, her voice clear 
and unmoved, not a tremor breaking her calm utter- 
ance. “ I shall come down and sup with you Mr. 
Stephen Houston and with your associates. Be good 
enough to let these ladies be served here in my cham- 
ber.” 

A princess could not have said it with more dignity. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


THE DUEL IN THE HALL 

The Banqueting hall of the Great House of Hous- 
ton-in-the- Hollow was one of those long low chambers, 
panelled, both as to ceiling and walls, with black bog 
oak, which had been built, fitted, and decorated in the 
midst of the sixteenth century in Scotland, just as the 
feudal castles with their arrow slots and tall gloomy 
keeps were one by one disappearing, and when the 
Scottish chateau, adapted from the French, and the 
acknowledged child of the Auld Alliance, was taking 
its place. 

Tonight both Houston-in-the-Hollow and its dining- 
room were ablaze with light. Old Sue Fairfoul, the 
housekeeper, who during the widowhood of the pres- 
ent laird’s father, was believed to have been raised to 
her responsible position by ardent favouritism, bewailed 
from the bottom of her miserly heart the extravagance 
of the scores of wax candles which burned in the can- 
delabra, and the cobwebby bottles of claret and Bur- 
gundy that had to be carried in basketfuls up from the 
cellar. Things were differently ordered in his time. 
But oh, these young men ! 

‘‘ And a’ to please that thief o’ a Rab Grier,” she 
grumbled, “ that near ruinated puir Tam, and a’ to do 
honour to this licht-o’-luve for the sake o’ wha’s bonny 
face he gat a sword stappit in his \atals. Sirce me, 
set her up ! Indeed — was I no bonny yince on a day, 
or else mony a yin forbye the laird telled a lee ! But 
nae man was ever brought bloody hame i’ the momin’ 


THE DUEL IN THE HALL 


273 


because o’ me ! Na, na, Susan Fairfoul had principles, 
and a deal mair respect for hersel’ than that ony de- 
cent man should come to the bier and the mort-claith 
for her hard heart ! ” 

And now happened a strange thing and marvellous. 
For when I vie had made herself ready to go down ac- 
cording to her promise, Euphrain, who had never 
shown any great affection toward the girl, being of a 
nature opposite, and perhaps no little jealous of her 
standing with her mother, for the first time broke 
through her reserve and begged I vie hard to remain 
with them. But Marjory Simpson, who understood far 
more of the nature and equipment of Grif Rysland’s 
daughter for the thing that was before her, simply 
bade her go, and God be with her ! 

No change of dress being possible, Ivie washed 
away the stains of travel, arranged her hair as best she 
could, passing her wet fingers through the little clinging 
curls about her brow, and kissing Marjory and Euph- 
rain, went down. The men were waiting for her. 
Lag and the younger Houstons gave her noisy greet- 
ing. There was a ring of triumph in Lag’s great 
voice — triumph and the contempt he had for women- 
kind. 

“ Did I not tell you,” he had said as he heard the 
door close above, “that she would come — aye, and 
be glad of the chance. Trust these brisk little beau- 
ties that have followed the wars. Their blood flows 
naturally to the sound of a drum, and they cannot re- 
sist a red coat — no not the sagest of them ! ” 

Stephen Houston offered his arm at the door as the 
guest of the night came in smiling. But if any had 
known Ivie Rysland, there was also a certain look in 
her eye that was dangerous. Among the men there 
was a little movement of their hands toward their 
sword-hilts as if to make the arch of honour, which at 
that time was the acknowledged homage of such to 
18 


274 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


their beauties of a night. But something about 
the girl arrested the intention — some subtile sug- 
gestion of her father as he unsheathed his sword 
that morning in the Kersland quarry-hole. 

I vie Rysland had changed greatly of late, but she 
had passed all her life among soldiers, and time had 
been when a supper party at Grif Rysland’ s modest 
lodging brought together the bravest men on the army 
roster — the bravest and the handsomest. Among 
such the daughter of the host had sat and queened it, 
proud, light-hearted, unconscious of evil, daring quip 
and repartee with the buttons off the foils, and playing 
the game of fence with all comers without fear or 
favour. 

And knowledge like that, gained in such fashion 
— the knowledge how beauty and wit in woman 
can make a little thing of man, is never lost. It 
persists in spite of all — though it may be unused, 
— ready to flash out like a duelling sword from its 
case. 

Ivie found herself at the head of the table between 
Stephen and the Laird of Lag. Beneath them on Sir 
Robert’s side were Bauldie and Hurst Houston, both 
big hairy giants, great toss-pots and oath-crackers of 
his own breed, lacking only the innate cruelty of their 
chief to be as celebrated as himself. On the other 
side, next to Stephen, sat the youngest of all, David 
Houston — he who had cared for Euphrain on the 
journey, and who for reasons of temper stood a little 
apart from the others — being if anything inclined to 
his elder brother’s party. Stephen Houston had, dur- 
ing Tom’s noisy reign at Houston-in-the-Hollow, passed 
most of his time in London, where he lived quietly on a 
little money which had come to him from his mother. 
During this time David had been of little account, but 
had been compelled to shout with the multitude who 
rode on Lag’s errands, whether he liked it or not. 


THE DUEL IN THE HALL 


275 


Since Steevie’s return, however, and the beginning of 
what promised to be a new dynasty at Houston, David 
had rallied to his elder brother’s side. Bauldie and 
Hurst swore that this was for what he could get out of 
the cupboard. But really young David had never 
taken kindly to the chasing and catching of neigh- 
bours, or to the shootings and hangings of unfortunate 
wanderers. 

Among these strangely assorted men Ivie now 
found herself. Never had she looked so tall, so grace- 
ful, and so perfect in beauty. The little changing 
fireflakes in her eyes seemed actually to dance like 
jets which break upward from a tall flame as it flicks 
in the wind, mounts a moment, and then vanishes. 
There was almost a joy on her face, perhaps the same 
joy of combat which shone more sternly on her 
father’s countenance on the eve of battle. But in 
Ivie’s case it tinged her cheeks with Raith’s dawn- 
pink, delicate as the first flush of day seen very far 
up, while her lips were full and fresh with the scarlet 
of pomegranate blossom. 

“ It was well-done to come down to charm half a 
dozen soldiers with your smiles,” said Lag, with his 
rough half-jesting familiarity, “ though I betted that 
you would accept — with pleasure ! ” 

“Sir,” said Ivie, “you have lost your bet. I hope 
you will pay it ! ” 

This was a first shot in the white. For Lag, 
though a great gamester, and as full of random bets 
as of unminced oaths, found it not always so conven- 
ient to pay, as indeed the late Tom Houston had 
found to his cost. 

“ And how may I have lost my bet, my fair lady ? ” 
laughed Lag, “ seeing that here you are ! ” 

“ You wagered, according to your own words that 
I would come with pleasure. I came not with any 
pleasure, seeing that I am brought away I know not 


2/6 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


where, against my will, and summoned as at the 
sword’s point to feast with my enemies.” 

“ Say rather with your father’s enemies, mistress,” 
said Lag, “ I take it no one of us is cruel enough of 
heart to be pretty Ivie’s enemy ! ” 

“ My father’s enemies are mine,” said the girl, 
but Grif Rysland is a soldier of fortune, and is wont 
to bear the brunt of his own enmities. Yet because 
he is not here to answer for himself — why, I will ! ” 

“ Hear ! ” cried all the Houstons together, Stephen 
alone remaining silent, soundly answered. Lag. Let 
us say no more about enmity. Drown it all in a cup 
of claret ! ” 

“ With all my heart,” said Lag. “ I would not be 
thought so ungallant as to dispute with so fair a neigh- 
bour ! — At least I would prefer to choose the subject 
of our disputation ! Will you drink a glass with me, 
sweet mistress ? ” 

“ I do not drink wine,” said Ivie, quietly, “ but I 
will pledge you heartily in water to quit roistering 
and learn a better trade ! ” 

At this again the others laughed, and Lag, who saw 
himself worse and worse supported as Ivie’s bright 
smile began to do its work, at last was fain to join 
also. 

Ivie sat at the table-head, and the men, one after 
the other, pledged her. For each she had a glance 
and a ready reply. She had stories to tell of cam- 
paigns in Holland and sieges in the Rhine Pro\dnces 
— of the Stadtholder, the Great Prince of Orange, 
the King’s son-in-law, at the mention of whom even 
Lag pricked up his ignorant ears. 

She dominated these men, who were her captors, 
and some of whom had thought to bring her among 
them as a scoffing and a merry jest. She knew so 
much more than them all put together. She could 
talk. There was besides, the eternal witchery of her 





‘‘I must answer for myself.” 








THE DUEL IN THE HALL 


277 


smile. They even forgot to drink, as they listened 
breathless — all but Lag, who, being accustomed to 
take the first place in that company as in every other 
where he cared to go, subsided into sulky silence and 
plied himself with wine which he drank down tank- 
ard after tankard. 

The dinner was over. The servants had with- 
drawn, and still the four Houstons sat listening en- 
tranced. Never had they heard anything so bewitch- 
ing as this girl, when to please was her will. 

All at once the wild beast which always slum- 
bered in Lag burst out, his temper and the wine he had 
drunk combining to madden him. 

“ We must have you up to court, pretty Ivie,” he 
said. “ I have always heard it said that such a merry 
wench was thrown away on cast-iron men like John 
Grahame and dolts like Tom Houston. Come to court 
with me, my lady, and I swear to make your fortune ! 
Portsmouth’s late favour and little Mistress Eleanor’s 
will be nothing to ours ! ” 

For an instant the girl sat silent, paling slowly to 
the lips. 

“I — do not understand — what you mean,” she 
said slowly, “but if my father was here — he would 
answer you. I cannot. I will leave you. You have 
drunk too much ! ” 

“Tut,” cried Lag, “you are no Puritan, lassie. I 
know better. It becomes not a pretty maid. Say 
you will come, and I will write to Rochester tomor- 
row. He manages these court receptions ! What 
matter if it angers My Lord! ” 

Ivie glanced about her. A riding-whip lay on a 
side-table, where it had been flung on entering by 
Lag himself. Ah, there was an answer to her hand ! 

“ My father is not here,” she said, “ so I must an- 
swer for myself I ” 

And with a motion of her hand as swift as light- 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


278 

ning, she seized the whip by the heavy handle and 
standing erect, she lashed Lag with all her force first 
across one side of the face and then across the other 
as if he had been a restive horse. 

He sprang at her, roaring with open mouth, the 
marks of the thong white across his bloated furious 
countenance. 

“ I will kill her, the infamous little Sergeant's 
wench ! ” he shouted. He was almost upon the girl, 
when Ivie, drawing back, unsheathed the little dagger 
which her father had given her years ago, in case 
the Prince’s camp might be taken by the soldiers of 
that Most Christian monarch Louis the Great. 

"Hold,” she cried, “one inch nearer, and I put this 
where it will rid the land of one foul rascal.” 

Two of Lag’s companions held him back, foaming 
and stamping with passion. “ She struck me,” he 
shouted, “ I tell you I will have her blood — her blood 
—her blood!” 

Each time he pronounced the word with increasing 
fury. 

“ Very well,” said Ivie, “ you can have my blood if 
you can get it. Come, my father is not here to spit 
you. You need a little blood-letting by the look of 
your face. Now I will fight you — I, a girl — that is, 
if Sir Robert Grier is not afraid 1 ” 

“ I do not fight with girls,” he muttered, becoming 
suddenly more articulate. 

“No” she answered scornfully, “you drown them 
tied to stakes in the river — or you get your brother to 
do it, which is the safer. But I am not afraid. I am 
no poor Margaret of Wigtown that can only chant a 
psalm. Perhaps I am none the better of that. But 
my father taught me the sword-play — aye, better sword- 
play and prettier than that of any petty militia-man 
who can but stick on his horse and slash at cabbages. 
Come,” she cried again after a pause, “ you would 


THE DUEL IN THE HALL 


2;9 


have my blood. Well, get a couple of rapiers — I will 
give you your choice. I take the other. What — still 
coy ? Well, another touch or two of the whip. Sir 
Robert, may serve to raise your courage ! ” 

During this scene a man had entered unobserved, 
pushing aside the curtains at the farther end of the 
dining-room with his hand. He had stood there, smil- 
ing well-pleased all through the altercation. Almost 
he had sprung forward when Ivie lashed Lag across 
the face, but again restraining himself, he stood half 
hidden by the curtain and unobserved by all, till at 
this moment his words cleft the turmoil with a sense 
of accustomed power. 

“There is, I think, no other course open to you with 
any honour. Sir Robert, ” he said. “It was lonely over 
at the castle, so seeing your lights, I rode over here, 
and am rewarded by arriving in time to tender my serv- 
ices to this young duellist. She has thrashed you, sir, 
and challenged you ! And now, you must fight ! Or — 
by heavens, sir, I will have you stripped of His Maj- 
esty’s commission and drummed out of the service!” 

“ But must I fight a girl .? ” cried Lag, furiously, 
looking this way and that as if for a way of escape. 

“ Aye, fight you must — or be beaten twice like a 
dog I Once would be enough for some men, but we all 
know that the Laird of Lag is long suffering when it 
comes to risking his skin! ” 

“ Devil’s on’t ! But you shall answer for this — aye, 
you, my Lord of Liddesdale though you be !” 

“ In good time, sir, one at a time — ” retorted the 
other calmly, “but perhaps you would rather that 
I should have a little salve applied to the cuts on your 
face — since you will not accept the ordinary salve of 
gentlemen for their wounded honour ! ” 

“ I will have the blood of the insolent slut who did 
it ! ” cried Lag, the smarting of his face and My Lord’s 
feathered arrows telling on his vocabulary. 


28 o 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ Well, give him a rapier,” cried My Lord, no, not 
that cadger’s load of metal, fit only for a wild Highland- 
man to heave up and cry ‘ Claymore.’ But something 
like this — dainty and light, like a pen in the hand of a 
ready writer ! Ah that is better ! ” 

He turned to I vie, bowing courteously. 

“ I offer you mine,” he said, it is a good blade and 
has been tried. There — measure it with the other. 
They agree to a hair ! Well, sir, though my principal 
is of a sex that seldom puts finger to steel, I think I 
can promise you no advantage, if all that is true that 
I heard from the officers of His Majesty’s Royal regi- 
ments of Dragoons! ” 

My Lord Liddesdale, now thoroughly in his element, 
bade the Houstons clear away the dining table, put- 
ting it to one side, and distributing the lights so as to 
fall equally. At last the unusual combatants were put 
into position. Lag, now recovered from his wine, was 
perfectly drunk with anger and fury. His eyes in- 
jected, and his hand trembling, he listened without 
answering to the taunts of Liddesdale. 

“ Of course. Sir Robert, even now — if you would 
rather have another taste of the whip, and prefer that 
I should tell the matter to my Lords at the Council 
table — Queensberry and Tarbet, and to the officers of 
His Majesty — ” 

“ Blood and death,” Lag spluttered, “ I will kill the 
wench and then I will kill you — My Lord Secretary 
of State. That at least will shut your mouth — though 
I swing for it ! ” 

“Ah, a better spirit,” cried My Lord, “on guard, 
then, while his valorous fit lasts ! ” 

The duel was fought in the long low dining-room 
of Houston-in-the-Hollow. Ivie wore the simple dress 
in which she had been carried off from the cottage 
in Cantie Bay, only fastening up her sleeves to the 
elbow. 


THE DUEL IN THE HALL 


281 

Lag, thoroughly infuriated by the pain and shame 
of the lash, and stung still more by the quips and 
threats of Lord Liddesdale, fell to with instant fury, 
waiting for no formalities. At first he tried to use 
his superior height, striking blindly, scarcely stopping 
to defend at all, but continuing to attack with a con- 
centrated fury. 

Ivie, whose instruction from her father had been 
continuous from the time when she had searched for 
tall reeds out of the Friesland marshes to fence with 
bearded swordsmen of a dozen German principalities, 
could have played with this, considered merely as 
fencing. But Lag’s superior strength, and the fury in 
which he was, compelled her to keep strictly to the 
defensive, at least till she had tired the edge of the 
attack. 

The men stood about, uncertainly watching, save 
only Hurst, who acted as Lag’s second, and My Lord, 
who took the direction of the whole combat, both as 
being the man first in rank and also as having had by 
far the greatest experience of such events. From the 
crossing of the blades he saw that Ivie stood in no 
danger. Her command of her weapon was perfect, 
and almost without appearing to move, she used the 
slender blade so that it became an impenetrable buck- 
ler which this strong and furious man tried in vain to 
break through ! 

His ill-success made Lag yet angrier, and like a 
chained mastiff which sees his enemy but cannot reach 
him, his words now came in sputtering bursts of 
foulest abuse. 

“ Enough,” said Ivie. Shall we say the right arm ? 
That will keep him the longest out of mischief ? ” 

And the next moment after a feint low in tierce, 
Ivie ran her adversary through the shoulder just below 
where the right arm is bound to the shoulder-blade. 

L^g’s rapier fell ringing to the floor and he himself, 


282 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


suddenly faint, slipped sideways into the arms of Hurst 
and his brother Archibald. The colour went slowly 
from his face, but the anger deepened and darkened 
on his brow. 

“ Quick,” he cried, “ give me a pistol and I will end 
it — to be run through by a girl — a girl ! ” 

“ But such a girl ! ” said My Lord. “ Why man, 
drink down a goblet of Burgundy to her health and 
pick up heart ! I would hold it an honour ! A girl — 
yes, but I will wager my lands there is not the like of 
her in Scotland. By the King’s head, if I were not 
wedded to a wife that is much like to outlive me — but 
I beg your pardon. Mistress Ivie, my tongue runs 
from my sense ! And I have no desire to try the 
temper of my own steel wielded by your fair arm ! ” 

‘‘ And now, ” he cried, “ shake hands, and forgive ! 
Ah, but you must, sir ! If you do not, I swear I will 
have it all over the country tomorrow ! If you do, and 
bear the lady no grudge, I warrant you on my honour 
that no one here shall ever mention it. You are a 
man in the way of rough usage, and have had a 
tough ride of it these last days. You might very well 
have gotten your hurt in a ruffle with a score of skulk- 
ing Whigs as you came through the Muir of Talla ! 
Out with your hand, man, or never more be offlcer of 
mine ! ” 

And so thus it came to pass that that night, the 
first of her imprisonment at Houston-in-the-Hollow, 
Ivie Rysland did, with a good heart, take the hand of 
her father’s enemy. Sir Robert Grier of Lag. 

* * * * * 

In five minutes afterwards, she was sobbing her 
heart out on the shoulder of Marjory Simpson. 

“ Oh, it is no use,” she cried, “ I am just the 
girl I used to be, and I thought I should be so 
different. It is all no use ! ” 

Tell me,” said Marjory, quietly patting her shoul- 


THE DUEL IN THE HALL 283 

der, “and cry just as much as ever you wish.” After 
she had heard all the tale the wise woman Marjory 
summed up. 

“God,” she said, “who never makes anything with- 
out a reason made you the girl you are, so that you 
might do the deed you have done to-night. Had you 
stricken the blade through his foul persecuting heart, 
you would have done the world the better service. 
But even so much is good ! ” 

For these were the Killing Times, and in his 
mother’s ear the blood of Murdoch Ellison still cried 
from the ground. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


! 

, ivie’s hand is kissed 

“ You shall answer to me for this,” cried Lag, “ my 
Lord of Liddesdale — it was you who set the she-cat 
upon me ! ” 

His Lordship waved his hand slightingly. 

“All in good time, friend,” he said, “when you are 
well over the she-cat’s present scratches, I may hu- 
mour you — so far, at least, as to chastise you for call- 
ing a lady by such a name. In the meanwhile, Sir 
Robert Grier of Lag, you are a young man, and I par- 
don you much, but, be good enough not to forget that 
I am His Majesty’s Secretary of State, and as such 
have a right to commit all brawlers and peace-breakers 
to the King’s prison ! ” 

“Also,” said Lag, with a sneer, “all such as uplift 
and carry off women against their will.” 

The Secretary laughed, and bending over regarded 
with interest the work of Roddie, Lag’s confidential 
serving-man, who with hands and teeth was pansing 
and bandaging the wound of his master with as much 
calmness as if it had been an everyday task, or more 
exactly, an accident which had befallen one of the 
troop-horses on the march. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ you forget Sir Robert, I am ac- 
countable only to the King. I have my duty to per- 
form, and I have my own ways of doing it. If I rode 
to Cantie Bay to arrest a notorious duellist and the 
slayer of the Laird of Houston your friend and my 
neighbour, who is there in Scotland to find fault with 


IVIE’S HAND IS KISSED 


285 


me ? And if I gave these ladies my company, it was 
because I was on my way home to Kingsberry and to 
my Lady the Countess. Also it was no light thing 
to leave a trover so precious in the hands of half-a- 
dozen reckless blades like Steevie there and the Laird 
of Lag.” 

“ And does your Lordship mean to stay here in this 
house of Houston-in-the-Hollow, and guard this pre- 
cious treasure in person.?” asked Lag. Surely in 
time His Majesty’s service might begin to suffer ! ” 
What, Robert,” cried my Lord Liddesdale, smil- 
ing, “ thou art a wit. Getting a lady to send a little 
steel through your shoulder begins to purge you of 
gross humours. But I will ease your mind. Late as 
is the hour and weary as the ladies must be, I propose 
to conduct them immediately to Kingsberry with a 
fitting retinue.” 

It is a great honour,” sneered Lag, “ but I am 
not sure that Captain Grif Rysland will see it in 
that light ! Or, let me add, my Lady the Countess of 
Liddesdale when she comes to hear of it ! ” 

“ As for Captain Grif Rysland, I cannot answer,” 
said the Earl, smiling, but for the Countess, I am 
better informed, being the bearer of an invitation on 
her behalf, and a prayer that the three ladies shall in- 
stantly repair to Kingsberry as her guests ! ” 

“ The Countess ... at Kingsberry .? ” 

“ Certainly,” said My Lord. Steevie, be good 
enough to order out your men to attend us. Bid your 
brothers get fresh horses. Provide three suitable for 
the ladies, and light me yourself to the ladies’ cham- 
ber. Or — stay. First dispatch that unamiable an- 
cient housekeeper to say that his Excellency the Sec- 
retary of State wishes a word with them, and prays 
that they will pardon the lateness of the hour and the 
instancy of the request, which only the unusual nature 
of the circumstances could excuse.” 


286 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


With a very doleful countenance Stephen Houston 
obeyed. He called his brothers, now sobered by the 
sharp encounter of which they had been witnesses, and 
still more by the unexpected appearance of their pow- 
erful neighbour amongst them so inopportunely. Sue 
Fairfoul departed upstairs to prepare the ladies for the 
Secretary’s visit, and Lag, whom Roddie had turned 
out a finished article, looked at everyone with a malig- 
nant eye. He was already meditating a revenge which 
would settle all scores at one blow. It was a good 
thing, he reflected, that he was so near his own coun- 
try. If his shoulder mended fast, he could easily call 
up his men, now scattered in a score of little garrisons, 
and after that — well, the egg was in his brain, but the 
serpent’s brood was not yet hatched. 

Steevie,” cried My Lord, looking at him curiously, 
** why so sober, lad } Have you not seen enough to 
know that men do not wreak vengeances on women 
Revenge your brother’s death on Grif Rysland, an’ you 
will. That is your right. But, by the King’s head, 
it must not be on his daughter ! What a girl, Steevie ! 
What a pearl among all girls ! Did you see her pick 
her place and send my little Frenchman home into 
Lag’s shoulder like a marksman pinning the gold of 
the target ? ” 

But Stephen Houston still stood silent, looking 
down. My Lord patted him on the back with a some- 
what unusual gentleness. 

“ May I never pull cork again,” he cried, “ if I do 
not believe that our little Stephen’s heart is touched ! 
Well, but it will not do, Steevie ! After all, there is 
Tom, and it is your duty to have that matter out with 
Captain Grif. If he fences better than his daughter, 
I fear your chances are not great. But you can always 
choose the pistol. The trigger evens skill not a little. 
But, seriously, was there ever such a girl since this 
ancient realm of the Scots rose out of the sea ^ Her 


IVIE’S HAND IS KISSED 


287 


Ladyship will be delighted with her. Come over 
tomorrow to Kingsberry, and try a bout at the foils. 
The little one may let you into a trick or two which 
may be of use against her father, when it comes to 
regulating poor Tom’s affair. And never be sulky, 
man, with an old friend who wishes you well. First of 
all, it is hanged uncivil. And secondly, consider how 
much more after the genius of correction it is, that so 
pretty a maiden should be under the protection of my 
Lady of Liddesdale at Kingsberry — rather than here 
in the lone house of Houston-in-the-Hollow with only 
that wicked old Sue Fairfoul and half a dozen roys- 
tering bachelors — even though one of them is a little 
stiff about the shoulder-blade ! ” 

^Tt strikes me. My Lord,” said Stephen, “that your 
Lordship has but recently taken these responsibilities 
to heart.” 

“Possibly — possibly, child,” said Liddesdale, easily 
“ I am a fatherly man, and wish well to all the 
young, even if they chance to be Whigs — ” 

“ Especially when they are pretty,” interjected 
Lag from his couch, no longer able to restrain him- 
self. 

“ Do not suffer the smart of the lady’s whip to keep 
your shoulder inflamed,” said My Lord, “quiet. Sir 
Robert, quiet is much enjoined by the faculty of 
surgeons — an easy mind, a cheerful disposition, bright 
society. As soon as you are well enough, I shall ask 
my Lady to invite you over to Kingsberry, where (I 
doubt not) Mistress Ivie will have the complaisance 
to give you a few lessons in fencing — most necessary. 
Sir Robert, if I may judge by what I have seen.” 

The words of Lag’s reply were unintelligible, but 
the tone did not escape the Secretary of State. 
He laughed easily, however, again recommended an 
equable temper, and took leave of the wounded man, 
pleasantly offering to convey any friendly message 


288 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

he might wish to send to his late fair and gallant 
antagonist. 

By this time Sue Fairfoul, with an amusingly af- 
fronted aspect, conveyed to her master the intelligence 
that the “persons in the great chaumer” were pre- 
pared to speak with My Lord. 

“Guide us to the ladies’ apartment, then, house- 
keeper,” ordered Liddesdale. So they took their way 
upstairs. Sue Fairfoul, (now much more foul than 
fair, as to the expression of her face) preceding them, 
in each hand a tall wax candle in a silver candlestick. 
Next came My Lord, and followed him Stephen 
Houston, an expression of rooted gloom on his sallow 
countenance, and the shadows thrown by the lights 
deepening his constitutional melancholy. 

They went upstairs to the large chamber in which 
they found Marjory Simpson, Euphrain, and Ivie. The 
three women stood, fully dressed, near the fireplace. 
Mother and daughter were close together, and Ivie, 
now very pale, had withdrawn a little deeper into the 
shade. 

My Lord bowed low, and then looked at Stephen 
Houston as if at a loss how to proceed. 

“ Pray introduce me to these ladies,” he said, at 
length. 

“ This is his Excellency the Earl of Liddesdale, 
Secretary of State for Scotland, and Lieutenant Gen- 
eral of the Kingdom,” said Stephen, wearily. 

“ First, then, ” said My Lord, “ I must apologise 
for disturbing you so untimeously, but what I have to 
say cannot well be put off.” 

“That we are weary, is true,” answered Marjory 
Simpson, “that we are ignorant of the cause of our 
present treatment is also true. But since the affair 
has been carried out with the knowledge and by the 
assistance of Lord Liddesdale, we are ready to hear 
what he may have to say to us ! ” 


IVIE’S HAND IS KISSED 289 

The Earl winced a little at what Marjory’s words 
implied. 

With the knowledge — yes,” he said, “ but what 
I did was meant to save you from worse things. And 
now (his voice suddenly recovered its cheerfulness) I 
have the honor to convey to you the invitation of my 
wife, the Lady Countess of Liddesdale, that you shall 
immediately place yourself under her protection, and 
accept of her hospitality at our Castle in Kingsberry. 
It is only a matter of a short mile. I have ordered a 
suitable escort — a litter for madam the Lady of May- 
field, and ponies for the younger ladies ! ” 

“ We are at the Countess’s service,” said Marjory 
Simpson, “ but I would have your Excellency note 
that I am no Lady of Mayfield, but only the wife of 
William Ellison, farmer in that place. ” 

I crave pardon. I but used the ancient Scottish 
style,” smiled the Earl. “ If your husband is the 
Laird of Mayfield, you are the Lady thereof. For- 
give me, it is the custom of our countryside here, 
if not of yours ! ” 

More than once he looked across to where I vie 
stood, still very pale, the traces of tears yet on her 
face. She remained silent, however, and the Earl for- 
bore any desire to compliment her on her performance 
in the dining room. 

“ She has been overstrained,” he thought, “ a week 
of Barbara will set that right ! ” 

But as he went out with the words, “ In five minutes 
all will be ready,” he made I vie a bow of special grace 
and depth. 

Torches of resin and tow, dipped in pitch and bound 
about with little wire baskets were blazing in front of 
the house of Houston-in-the-Hollow, throwing a weird 
glow as of conflagration into the unblinded windows 
of the main staircase. As the torch-bearers changed 
their positions without, the shadows of the bannisters 

19 


290 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


danced a weird dance and old Sue Fairfoul with the 
pair of silver candlesticks in her hands grimaced like 
one of Satan’s own witches muttering curses amid the 
flickering flames of the pit. Curses she was indeed 
repeating, as fast as her tongue could trip it. Yet 
these were most strangely mingled with blessings and 
God-speeds. For was not the bonny face of I vie Rys- 
land, for the sake of which one of her roaring lads had 
already perished, on the point of departing forever 
from under the roof of Houston-in-the-Hollow. 

“ And the invitation o’ the Countess ? ” she mut- 
tered, “ a likely story ! But far be it frae auld Sue 
Fairfoul to contra’ it, seein’ that the hoose will be weel 
rid o’ her afore she has completely cast the glamour 
ower puir Maister Steevie — whilk she was doin’, oh, I 
ken it weel ! Already he is gaun aboot like a new- 
speaned calf that has nocht but the kitchen dish-clout 
to sook ! ” 

The three women came down the stair, the two 
girls supporting on either side the tired steps of Mar- 
jory Simpson. I vie had recovered her courage and 
some of her colour, somehow she always did so in the 
company of men, whose mere presence braced her to 
show herself at her best, and this wholly without 
coquetry or taking of thought. 

The door of the great dining-room was open as they 
passed, and she could see Lag lying on a couch, with 
Roddie his man still bending over him. I vie stepped 
quietly to the porch and laying her hand on the lintel, 
said, Sir Robert, I am sorry that you are wounded.” 

“ Humph,” growled Lag, without so much as look- 
ing at her, “you will be sorrier yet one day !” 

“ Come away,” said My Lord, “ the wild boar is a 
noble beast, but when it comes to courtesy, he were a 
fool who would expect more from him than a grunt !” 

They were standing in the hall, the horses stamp- 
ing impatiently without in the unaccustomed glare of 


IVIE’S HAND IS KISSED 


291 


the torches, and the raw chill of night, heavy and air- 
less with the damp mist of the gorge, setting Marjory 
coughing. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly Stephen 
Houston came forward like one who has a message to 
deliver. 

“ Before you leave this house — my house,” he said, 
in a clear level voice which Sue Fairfoul heard looking 
over the stairway balusters and Lag as he lay smart- 
ing on his couch, and which brought in My Lord to 
hear something new, “ before you three ladies, and 
especially you. Mistress Ivie, depart from the thresh- 
old of my house, I have something to say. First 
there is humbly your pardon to ask — yours chiefly — 
but also that of your friends, who have been made 
partners in your misfortunes.” 

Your father slew my brother — as I understood, for 
your sake, I saw him die. That day as he lay in my 
arms I swore to have vengeance. I swore to slay the 
slayer, though I myself should die. With this inten- 
tion my neighbour the Lord Liddesdale and my 
brother’s friend Sir Robert Grier of Lag, accompanied 
me to the place where, as our information assured us. 
Captain Grif Rysland was residing. He was not there, 
but instead we found you, his daughter, and these your 
friends. Then an evil spirit of the pit tempted us — 
me perhaps chiefly. I had believed the things which 
had been told us concerning the death of my brother. 
But on the journey — nay, so soon as I set eyes on 
Mistress Ivie Rysland, I knew that he who first uttered 
them, and all who had ever since repeated them, had 
lied as falsely as hell itself — the which I am now at 
liberty to maintain.” 

“ Hour by hour, day by day there has been born a new 
thing in my heart, and what began as hatred and ven- 
geance, has become first admiration and then love.” 

“ Bravo, Steevie,” broke in My Lord, ** but why 
keep us waiting here in the damp till you have declared 


292 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


yourself? Were it not better to come over to the 
the Countess to-morrow, and have it out with all the 
forms ? ” 

“ No,” said Stephen, “ hear me out ! Shamefully 
was this true maid brought to this house of Houston 
— my house ! But I wish her to know ere she leaves 
it, that if at any time she has need of the life, of the 
sword, or of the heart and hand of Stephen Houston, 
they are hers and hers alone — as his most humble and 
loving respect are hers now and always ! I bid you 
good night my sweet lady ! ” 

And going forward he bent on one knee and kissed 
Ivie’s hand before every one, the serving men stand- 
ing gaping as at a play, and his brothers, like jealous 
rivals in the wings, muttering to each other behind 
their hands. 

“ Steevie always was a fool.” That was the burden 
of their speech. 

Naturally it was My Lord who first recovered 
himself. 

** Good lack, Steevie,” he cried, “ this is public 
enough and I see not that any of the forms have been 
omitted. But as for the lady’s answer, good Steevie, 
it would not be kind to press her. She is wearied. 
She has lost a father, won a lover and pinked a King’s 
officer all in the space of a hundred miles. That is 
surely enough to entitle the lady to speak when it 
pleases her. So come to-morrow for your answer but 
not betimes. I shall see to it — I mean the Countess 
will, that the lady sleeps late. But ride over for your 
four-hours, Steevie, and your answer shall be waiting. 
You shall have my good word, so far as that may 

go-" 

“ I will not. My Lord,” said Stephen Houston, 
abruptly. “ I know my answer already. I but wished 
to make the lady such amends as I could.” 

“ Tush, man,” said My Lord, tis bad enough and 


IVIE’S HAND IS KISSED 


293 


foolish enough to take a woman’s NO after it has been 
repeated a dozen times over. But to invent it for 
yourself, that touches the very nadir of folly, Steevie, 
so my lady Countess will expect you to-morrow for 
your four-hours. Do not disappoint her.” 

“ My compliments to the Lady Countess,” said 
Steevie, but she will expect in vain.” 

“ Steevie,” cried My Lord, “ I overlook the rude- 
ness of the form, in consideration of the perturbation 
of your spirit. But in any case, help the ladies to 
mount. Let me conduct you, madam, to your litter. 
Davie, where are your manners ? Help Mistress Eu- 
phrain. You were forward enough upon the journey ! 
But no declarations d la Steevie, mind. Or we shall 
all have the devil to pay to-morrow with cold in our 
windpipes ! ” 

Then Stephen Houston, his head bare, helped I vie 
to her saddle. Neither spoke, nor looked at each 
other, and with a cry from My Lord, and a wild swing- 
ing of torches to make them bum the brighter, the 
procession filed away into the dark. Stephen stood 
on the topmost step and watched them out of sight, 
his eyes on one slender figure. He watched motion- 
less till the glare had become but a smoky loom, and 
last of all only the faintest skarrow in the sky, ruddy- 
ing the low-lying clouds of night. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


LAG TAKES COUNSEL 

Then Stephen Houston turned and went indoors. 
Old Sue Fairfoul met him and shook a trembling hand 
in his face. 

“ This is more than enough,” she cried, “to make 
your poor murdered brother turn in his grave — that 
ye should speak such words to that soldier’s hussie ! ” 

Instantly Stephen was himself again. He was glad 
to be angry. 

“ That reminds me,” he said, “ I warn you to turn 
out of this to-morrow. You have been overlong about 
the House of Houston. A pension and a cot in which 
decently to hide your head, you shall have. But be 
ready with your accounts and your keys to-morrow. I 
will receive them myself ! ” 

“ And Susan Fairfoul, that has carried them for 
thirty year, what of her ? ” said the old woman, fum- 
bling with the tinkling bunch at her girdle. “But waes 
me — new men — new manners ! I dootless ye will be 
getting the house ready for the new mistress. But 
ye ’ll hear a tale of or twa or ye are wed. Solway-side 
is a fine country to be married in.” 

“ You at least shall be ten miles from Houston,” 
said Stephen, “ and if you come nearer for any pur- 
pose whatever, I swear you shall lose your pen- 
sion.” 

After Stephen had gone up to his room (from whence 
he looked long in the direction of the Earl’s Castle of 
Kingsberry), Lag called softly to his manservant. 


LAG TAKES COUNSEL 


295 


“ Roddie,” he said, “what think ye of this pin-prick 
of mine ? How long will it keep me here ? Ye have 
skill of such like ; more than twenty leeches ! ” 

Roddie glanced grimly at his master. 

“ That,” he said, “ depends greatly on how long your 
honour wishes to stop in the neighbourhood.” 

“ I do not want to remain at all,” Lag answered, im- 
patiently, “ this moment I would be going. There is 
work to be done. I must have my revenge before My 
Lord grows on the alert.” 

“ Hum,” said Roddie, rubbing first his shaven chin 
and then his closely cropped head, “ but I thought — ” 

“ You thought what ? ” said his master fiercely, “out 
with it, villain ! ” 

“ That mayhap your idea of vengeance might lie — 
over there ! ” And he pointed towards Kingsberry, 
satisfactorily indicating the direction by jerking his 
thumb over his shoulder. 

His master shook his head at his servant, and then 
winked at him with the brutal frankness which was his 
only virtue. 

“Nay, Roddie,” he said, “you and me may birsle 
together. There is little doubt of that if the godly 
prophesy aright. But there is no need for us to jump 
into the fire here on earth. My Lord is the great 
man, and I, Robert Grier, and you, his man Roddie, 
are but two roughriding carles that think as little of 
sending a score or twa of Covenant Saints to a better 
world, as of clipping the heads off so mony thistles 
while we dauner by the roadside. But do not let us 
deceive ourselves, that is all the use My Lord has for 
the like o’ us ! Still, my lad, there are some few on 
their road hither that I would like to encounter before 
My Lord meets them. I have private information, 
Roddie. I showed Liddesdale but one of the letters 
writ by that fause hound Beattie Ellison. But there 
was an enclosure, a back letter, and as ye have ever 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


296 

been a faithful servant, Roddie, and never turned 
squeamish or questioned my will, I will tell you, Rod- 
die, the more that ye may have a shrewd guess as 
to what had better be done. But as far as I can 
see, Roddie, if only I could travel, I could trap the 
lot. And my justice’s warrant could stand as good to 
do for them in front of a firing party, before ever My 
Lord could lift a finger to sign a pardon.” 

Roddie listened with his ear turned a little towards 
his master. He was somewhat deaf, but, like many 
such, he would have died rather than own it. 

“If your Honour is inclined to let him hear the bit 
enclosure,” he said, “ Roddie is ready to listen! ” 

“ This it is then,” said Lag putting his hand into 
the breast of his coat, and drawing out a thin pocket- 
book, which, as his most precious possession, contain- 
ed his commission to pursue and take, and if need be 
to shoot after summar}'’ trial, by authority of the King, 
any refusing the Test, or otherwise rebels against his 
authority. Lag looked lovingly at this document, 
and read the last clause aloud. 

*^And with power to shoot after sumviary trial , . . 
any rebels against his authority. ” 

“ That,” he said, “ covers the case .... all the 
cases I ” 

“ And the letter } ” said Roddie, who was noted for 
keeping steadily to the matter in hand, whether it 
might be the trail of a moss-hag wanderer, or the de- 
pluming of a pigeon at the cartes^ when in their chosen 
tavern the men-at-arms played lasquenet or picquet.” 

Lag looked around cautiously and inclined his 
ear to the door. 

“ See that no one is about,” he said, “and that soft 
head, Steevie, gone to his bye-bye. The others, I 
know, have not returned.” 

Roddie went to the door. Old Sue Fairfoul was 
still lingering uncertainly about the hall, whom Roddie 


LAG TAKES COUNSEL 297 

ordered instantly upstairs for a spying old witch, ad- 
ding such other compliments as occurred to him. 

Then ye will may be open the door, and serve 
the gentrice if they come in cryin’ for mulled wine 
this raw unkindly night,” she retorted, standing her 
ground, or rather trying to do so. But Lag’s roar 
from his couch, like a tiger from his lair, frightened 
her upstairs grumbling under her breath. 

“ Roddie,” said Lag, ‘^that wife has gotten her 
fee and her leave. She’s Sawtan’s ain darling — but 
she is bound to ken a heap about the house o’ Hous- 
ton — considering the nature o’ her service in the old 
Laird’s time — aye, and Tam’s too — much about My 
Lord, too, doubtless. Did ye hear Steevie, the cuif ? 
He is feared o’ her, or he would never have forbidden 
her to come within ten miles o’ Houston ! What 
say ye ? Shall we settle her in auld Lucky Bidden’s 
yett-house.^ It will cost but little, and she will see nae 
mair than she is paid to see. What think ye, Roddie ? ” 
“ We’ll see, — we’ll see, Laird,” answered that 
privileged attendant, but let us hear the letter. It 
will not take lang to read by the look of it — there’s 
but little ink wasted. I’m thinking ! ” 

With that Lag opened out and read the last infor- 
mation of Beattie Ellison, , traitor. 

“ I have writ the above inclosure more for the pub- 
lic eye, not knowing who may be in your company when 
this comes to your hand. But I add a private word to 
tell you first, that Grif Rysland and Raith the dragoon, 
sometime soldiers of the King, have treacherously 
united to release the prisoners on the Bass — among 
others Mr. Peden, Steel of Lesmahago, Gray of 
Chryston (the younger). Holy Peter Patieson, and oth- 
ers. All these with Rysland and the dragoon are now 
on their march southwestward, having landed on the 
coast near to Dunbar, as I have this morning received 
informations. Believing that this may be of immedi- 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


298 

ate value to you to know, I send it by special messen- 
ger, trusting that you will not forget to aid with 
your good word and support the advancement which 
I so greatly desire from my Lords of the Council, and 
so I subscribe myself, your Honour’s very humble 
obedient servt. B. E.” 

“ The cursed two-faced fox,” said Roddie. “ See 
Sir Robert, he never names his father and brother as 
having escaped also from the Bass. But he will not let 
a single tear trickle when we catch them through his 
informations, and set them up against a wall with the 
black mouths o’ a dozen muskets glowerin ’at them. 
I only wish he was in the middle o’ the raw ! I am 
acquaint wi’ yae lad that wad weeze a bullet through 
the wratch wi pleasure ! ” 

“ Aweel, aweel,” said Lag, who in his privacies 
with Roddie dropped familiarly into the vernacular, 
“ let the ill-thriven pout alane. It’s the auld birds we 
want to get our fingers upon. When can I mount and 
ride, Roddie, that’s the question ? ” 

** A sawbones’ or a soldier’s opinion ? ” asked Rod- 
die, eyeing his master quaintly. 

“ Hang you, I want j/our opinion — how often must 
I say that over, you deaf auld bald-pat ed tying-post } ” 

“ Well,” returned Robbie, as imperturbably as if he 
had not heard his master speak.” then I think that 
there’s no great harm done ! It was a clean lunge, 
weel-judged — ” 

“ Hang the judgment of it ! ” said Lag. 

“ Weel-judged and straight as an arrow ! But, ye 
ken, there wasna the wecht o’ a man ahint it. It will 
be a twa-three days afore ye can raise your airm abune 
your heid. Sir Robert, but I see nocht to hinder ye to 
mount and ride the morn gin ye like. Ye will mak’ 
some gye dour faces when the beast jirgs ye ower the 
stanes,- but what matters that Ye will leeve and loup 
dykes for a’ that. And whatna a haul — Peden the 


LAG TAKES COUNSEL 


299 


Prophet and the Ellisons, forbye the twa bauld trait- 
ors of His Majesty, Grif Rysland and Raith the Dra- 
gooner, the Cornet Grahame was so proud o’ as a re- 
cruit ! I’ll wager that we will net mair nor eneuch to win 
yon lass’s favor wi’, gin it like ye. We will mak’ her 
a better offer than that young fule Steevie up the 
stairs, wi’ his pardons and his respects and his kissing 
o’ hands ! Guid help us, that auld Scotland should 
hae come to this ! There wad hae been nane o’ that 
beckin’ and bowin’, had oor lads corned across a bon- 
ny lass in the year o’ the Hielant Host ! ” 

Lag looked grim enough as he shook his head. 

“ Na, na,” he said, I sue for nae proud madam’s 
favours, nor will I buy the least o’ them with her fa- 
ther’s life. A firing party at six yards distance and an 
officer to gie the signal wi’ his sword — that’s Robert 
Grier’s notion, for the hale rebel hive ! Then let My 
Lord’s Nonesuch of a Girl console herself on the bos- 
om of my Lady Countess of Liddesdale, an she will. 
There’s routh o’ room there. I’ll wager ! But we must 
to the work before Liddesdale gets wind of us. Off 
with you tonight and raise Lag’s riders. Wherever 
they are scattered, send and warn them — from Carsp- 
hairn, from Sanquhar Peel, from Rockhall and the bor- 
ders of Irongray. Be back in two days, and by that 
time, thanks to Steevie Houston’s fostering care, I 
shall be ready to ride out at their head. But bring 
them to the road-end at night, and above all, let not a 
whisper reach My Lord’s ears. He will be fixed for 
ten days at Kingsberry with his new toy. They will 
sing duets together, and the Countess will accompany 
them on the mandolin — paugh ! ” 

And he chanted in contempt : 

“ Here at thy feet we tribute pay 
Of all the glories of the May 1 ” 

Roddie and his master laughed together. 


300 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

** Ah," said Lag, with a fierce grin, “ you and I will 
have something to lay at the feet of beauty which will 
surprise her, ah Roddie ? " 

Aye," quoth Roddie, ‘‘ her father’s head ! I saw 
Mr. Cameron’s cut off on the day of Ayr’s Moss ! 
Earlshall gave a lad about my size a guinea for doing 
it!" 


CHAPTER XL 


KINGSBERRY-ON-THE-HILL 

Late as was the hour the many-windowed front of 
Kingsberry blazed with light. It was in situation, 
in plan, and in surroundings a perfect contrast to 
Houston-in-the-Hollow. It might fitly have been 
named ** Kingsberry-on-the-Hill.” It was of an alto- 
gether newer time, having been commenced immedi- 
ately before the Civil Wars, and finished immediately 
after them. More English than Scottish, with a front 
all windowed, standing on a piano nobiley with wide 
stone staircases, numberless turrets, crow-stepped as 
the sole concession to the national taste, massed and 
fluted chimneys, and a great hall a hundred and 
fifty feet long — such were the prominent features of 
Kingsberry. But as the cavalcade approached that 
dark night the windows with their numberless lights 
and the great open hall door aloft on its terrace first 
took the eye. 

Happily, as the Earl had said, it was no long way 
from Houston to his Castle-palace of Kingsberry. He 
had sent on a servant before him to order all to be in 
readiness, and also to warn My Lady. 

The Lady Countess of Liddesdale stood at the top 
of the steps to receive her guests. She was a woman 
of great height, reputed in the country to be a match 
for any man at wrestling or fisticuffs. She was 
counted eccentric and being a daughter of the late 
almost royal Duke of Rothesay, she could afford to say 
and do the most extravagant things without question. 


302 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


It was even reported among the vulgar that the whole 
relation of husband and wife was on an unusual 
footing, and that more than once the lady had been 
known to inflict corporal chastisement upon her erring 
mate when he stayed out late. But as this was likely 
to be merely a tale suggested by the relative sizes of 
husband and wife when seen together, little credence 
need be given to it. They were always on the most 
affectionate terms in public, and what more need any 
one require. 

*‘This,” said the Earl introducing Marjory Simpson, 
is the wife of the Laird of Mayfield in Galloway — ” 

“ And none the worse that the goodman wears a 
bonnet,” said the Lady of Liddesdale, ‘‘ forbye he is a 
Whig ! For which I think all the better ’o him, and of 
you also. Whiles I am something o’ a Whig mysel’ 
but I am terrible troubled with the auld Adam. Ye 
have heard of my father, and his father before him, 
auld Duke Rothesay. It’s terrible hard to keep the 
flesh in order wi’ forbears like them ! And this will be 
your daughter, what’s her name ? — Euphrain — pre- 
serve us, what a name ! It’s like the folk that David 
used to sing the Psalms to, Selah and Shiggaion and 
siclike ! ” 

“ And this,” said her husband, presenting his chief 
guest in a lull, “ Mistress Ivie Rysland, the daughter 
of Captain Grif Rysland, late Governor of the Bass.” 

The Lady of Liddesdale took Ivie by both shoulders, 
drew her under a great branched candlestick and 
looked at her carefully and long. 

“ Sic a din as there has been about ye, lassie,” she 
said, “ a’ the men-folk clean daft. And him — my faith, 
he couldna bide to take his chack of dinner in peace 
but maun mount and ride to fetch ye here, as soon as 
he kenned that I was at the castle.” 

“ Hush, Meg — ” began her husband, putting out his 
hand to stop her. 


KINGSBERRY-ON-THE-HILL 


303 


“ Deed, I’ll hush Meg’ nane,” said the lady, “ it’s 
true I’m tellin, and an unco blessing ! For had I no 
been here, there would hae been sparks driven from 
steel ower the head o’ ye, lass ! ” 

There were — there were,” cried her husband, 
eagerly snapping his fingers, ** wait till I get ye up 
stairs, Meg, and I’ll tell yea tale that will keep ye 
from sleeping for a week ! ” 

“ Sleeping,” echoed his wife, “ I am sure that thae 
puir things need sleep — aye, and sleep they shall 
hae. Bid the loons oot-bye be off with their tar-bar- 
rels. Guid-e’en to ye, gentlemen. I’ll be seein mair 
o’ you Houstons, I’m thinkin’, than I hae seen at the 
Castle o’ Kingsberry this mony a year. Tam, the 
thief, is in his restin’ grave, Guid rest his saul ! I’se 
warrant he needs a prayer, and though I’m a kind o’ 
Whig mysel’, he willna be the waur o’ mine ! But, 
my faith, Kingsberry will be like a honey-pot in hay- 
time while ye bide, my lass. The morn’s momin’ ye 
will tell me all about your kith and kin. Ye maun be 
foreign, by the look o’ ye ! Ye are overly bonny 
for any o’ the auld Scots houses. Its a queer thing, 
but after three generations we breed men that are but 
wisps o’ tow and the women like dairymaids ! ” 

It was in this fashion that the three poor wearied, 
harried women from the cot of Prayerful Peter at last 
found a lodging and a bed apiece, sweeter to them 
than down, under the roof of a daughter of a duke, 
and under the protection of the first officer of State in 
Scotland. 

Next morning the Countess, no respecter of per- 
sons, insisted on having Marjory and Euphrain with 
her to prayers in her own chamber. But she would 
not on any pretext allow Ivie to be called. 

‘^No, no,” she said , “let the lass sleep. She can 
tak’ her religion a wee later, wi’ her breakfast baps ! 
But bid Mr. Eastwood to come his ways ben to my 


304 the cherry RIBBAND 

private chaumer, and warn the Earl to keep oot o' the 
road ! " 

She took Marjory’s arm in a friendly manner as 
she conducted her into her own room. 

“ We have good Presbyterian prayers every morn- 
ing,” she said in a lowered voice. “ Honest Mr. East- 
wood him that was outed in the year Sixty — he was 
our parish minister, and used to rebuke my faither 
Rothesay ( caa’ed the Young Deil ) soundly for his 
ongauns after the King came back and a’ his foreign 
sculduddery wi’ him, Rothesay amang the rest ! And 
though there has been a word or twa aboot the Oaths’ 
and takkin’ the Test and siclike, guid Maister East- 
wood has bidden quiet here in Kingsberry, and 
never been meddled. The Secretary pretends never 
to see him when they meet in the library. Or if 
there are ither folk there he cries, ^ Librarian seek 
me the Manuscript volume o’ my Lord the Earl o’ 
Rochester — his ballants.’ And then Mr. Eastwood 
answers briskly, ‘ Indeed My Lord, that will I not, 
and black shame should sit on your brow to ask for 
sic a thing ! ’ All which passes well enough. For then 
the guidman can e’en shrug his shoulders and say 
ahint his hand, * He is an original that my wife Meg 
likes to keep about her ! She is Rothesay’s daughter, 
ye ken ! ’ ” 

In the midst of these confidences Mr. Eastwood 
himself, a sedate, white-haired old man of about sixty, 
having entered, proceeded to perform family worship 
with much reverence and true devotion, so that even 
critical Euphrain owned to having been edified. 

As soon as the good man had finished My Lady 
said to him, '‘And now Mr. Eastwood, here is a pleas- 
ant task. Will you conduct these ladies, who are of 
our persuasion, and see that they get their breakfast. 
The Secretary will take his alone. And as for me — 
if I put off any longer going up to see the lass that 


KINGSBERRY-ON-THE-HILL 305 

stickit my Lord’s rapier through the shoulder of 
Roarin’ Rob Grier, I declare I shall perish for the want 
o’t, like a young wife graning for sowens ! ” 

* * * * * * 

“ Weel,” said the bold Countess, when she had 
heard Ivie’s story, “ye had need to be baith a bonny 
and a clever lass — your lad is sure to be hanged, your 
faither like to be, and yoursel’ wi’ wild Rob Grier on 
your track and half the drucken tear-the-winds in the 
country. But cannily and kindly, lass, and you and 
me — we’ll wear the kye intil the byre yet ! The 
lambs are no a’ deid because the tod is on the hill !” 

Ivie, held perforce to her bed by the commands of 
the countess, sipped delicately at the tea which the 
great lady prepared with her own hands as if she had 
been accustomed to it all her life, without the least 
idea that it cost six guineas a pound. 

“ Certes, lass,” said the Countess as she watched 
her, “ye might do waur than settle ower by with yon 
lad Steevie Houston. Ye could wind him about your 
finger. What garred ye fancy the dragoon at ten 
shillings Scots a day ^ But wherefore blush } Gin a 
maid’s fancy be not free, she had better be a slave 
among the infidel Turks ! But frankly, the thing 
passes me, lass.” 

“ Well,” said Ivie, now at her ease, “ it just hap- 
pened. I began by mocking and lightlying him, and 
then he answered well and featly and modestly, so in 
the end I could not but listen. Then I liked to hear 
him. After that, he left all and was cursed by his 
father (not by his mother), because of following me.” 

“ Well might he do that,” cried the Lady Liddesdale, 
“ were I a man, I declare I would have done the same 
— father, mother and all ! ” 

“ Then on the Bass, we were much together, and 
the days were long and blue. And somehow he grew 
to be different from all the world, and when I was 
20 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


306 

blown over the rock, he threw himself after me into 
the sea, and was most heart-broke when he found me 
not. Then again after that we found one another, 
and for a little — it seemed as if I could come to love 
him if — I had had time ! ” 

“Then,” said. My Lady quickly, “you have not 
yet told him ? ” 

“ No-o,” said Ivie, slowly, “but — I have a guess 
that he knows! ” 

“ Not he,” cried the Countess, “I’ll wager he is of 
your modest breed that I never could abide ! Con- 
ceit and youth should go together in a young man. 
You say he is handsome ! ” 

Ivie nodded, the faintest smile of malice about her 
lips. 

“ Not so handsome as my father,” that of course. 
But handsome — yes I ” 

“ After what fashion ? ” demanded Lady Liddes- 
dale. 

“ Tall — ruddy of cheek, hair which curls, and shoul- 
ders broad.” said Ivie. “ The soldier’s coat suits him 
well enough ! But it was not for that I loved him I ” 

“ For what then, girl ? ” 

“ Why, you see, with other men all was easy.” Ivie 
paused to think. “They followed, like sparrows when 
one flings crumbs in the snow. But he was shy — like 
a deer looking at you out of the wood. Yet bold 
enough with men, and a good flghter, which is his 
trade, but with me shy as a maid in short-kirtles. It 
became a delight to me only to walk by his side and 
hear him stammer — that is, till suddenly he found his 
tongue. And because he has a white skin — one could 
see a little pulse in his neck fluttering away by itself, 
and by that you know how fast his heart beat.” 

“ No one ever did that for me,” sighed the Count- 
ess, “ yet I like to hear it. ’Tis an exercise I love 
more than Mr. Eastwood’s.” 


KINGSBERRY-ON-THE-HILL 


307 


“ Who is Mr. Eastwood,” said Ivie. 

“All in good time, — Mr. Eastwood can wait,” cried 
My Lady. “ And so he found his tongue ? Tell me of 
that ! ” 

Just then there came a knock upon the door with- 
out, and a low voice asked if My Lady Countess and 
the young lady Mistress Ivie Rysland were yet ready 
to receive My Lord ! 

“No,” cried the Countess,” nor will be for hours. 
Go away, James, to your papers. Have I lived so 
long in the same house and not know your voice, oil it 
as you will ? Go and do the King’s business — Mis- 
tress Ivie and I have ours. Or go shoot us some 
ducks on the moor pond. Break your own laws in the 
matter of muir-fowl, heath-fowl, ducks, drakes, ptarmi- 
gan and quail, but do not venture up this stairway 
again, or by the word of Margaret of Rothesay, your 
lawful wife, ye will get the water-pitcher broken over 
your head — a pretty jest to be told of a Secretary of 
State and a Lord Lieutenant of the Kingdom ! ” 

The footsteps retreated down the stair, and her 
Ladyship laughed. 

“Just now James is so eaten up with jealousy it is 
a pleasure to think on,” she said. “He will die one of 
these days merely of wanting to know. That is real- 
ly why he troubles with all this business of the State, 
which puts nothing in his pocket. He must needs 
have his finger in every pie, and a handful out of every 
poke. Not of money, but of gossip — something to 
tell me. I keep him firm at that, and. Lord love you, 
lass, I have found it tie him faster and firmer than 
beauty. There is none to whom he can speak as he 
can to me. For Meg of Rothesay, though she be 
muckle of mou’ like her namesake, can keep that 
muckle mouth all the firmer shut when she likes ! But 
now that we have sent James off with a flea in his 
lug, tell me how that lad of yours found his tongue ! ” 


3o8 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ Why,” said Ivie, lying back on the pillow and 
resting her head between her hands, “ indeed I hardly 
remember. It is so long ago. It began I think, 
about my eyes — his were blue, I remember ! ” 

Ah, you remember that, do you ? ” said the 
Countess, “ I begin to think that there was nothing so 
very wonderful about it after all ! ” 

“And my lips — he said,” Ivie stammered, “but it 
is folly. I cannot repeat it ! ” 

“ Go on,” cried the Countess, “ it is good even to 
be made love to at second hand. More shame to an 
old woman who should be at her prayers ! ” 

“He said that my lips were not cherry-red like those 
of country girls, but like the little flakes of pink which 
one sees above the gold of the dawn ! ” 

“ I never saw it, except when we were coming 
home from the King’s water parties at Hampton, and 
then I was too sleepy, or else had to lecture James 
about his conduct with the maids of honour. Still it is 
marvellous — from a country lad. But you must have 
taught him ? ” 

Ivie smiled upon the pillows, lazily reminiscent. 

“ Perhaps,” she said, “but it is'in him to begin with. 
The others — why, mostly, one has to awake their vo- 
cabulary with a horsewhip — ” 

“As you did for Roaring Rob over at Houston 
last night — well — that is not all, I see it in your 
smile.” 

“ I had some broom in my hair one day,” Ivie pro- 
ceeded, with the same curious, far-away smile, “I 
thought it would become me and tease him — it was 
foolish — but then it was so long ago. I was m7ic/i 
younger then.” 

“By how many months.?” said her Ladyship of Lid- 
desdale. 

“ And — one does not think — I threw him a little 
chaplet of it. It fell in the dust at his feet ! ” 


KINGSBERRY-ON-THE-HILL 309 

** Stop, don’t tell me,” cried the Lady Liddesdale, 
** I know what he did with it.” 

Yes, was it not foolish of him > — for of course 
broom-flourish falls off so easily. You cannot carry it 
that way ! ” 

‘‘Ah,” sighed Margaret of Rothesay, daughter of a 
ducal house, “doubtless it was foolish of him. But 
then he was young. And alas, he will grow wiser. 
But I am not sure that you will like it better when he 
does. My dear, it is only ugly women who remain 
young and foolish all their lives ! 


CHAPTER XLI 


THE HAUNTED HAGS OF CRAIG WEARY 

Now it chanced that at the very moment appointed 
for the departure of the four riders from the heights 
of Barnton Heuch, above the Cove of Cantie Bay, 
there appeared one on the scene who has hitherto kept 
wilfully in the back-ground of this history — though 
his commercial schemes and appliances for the use of 
the distressed have more than once been found of 
value. 

This was no other than Prayerful Peter. But it 
was a very different Peter from the retiring and 
respectful person whom Grif and Raith had seen at 
the Bass, or upon rare visits to the mainland. Wild 
of aspect, piteous and quivering of mouth, he laid so 
violent a hold upon Grif Rysland, that the hand of 
that quick-tempered soldier twitched to administer a 
buffet. 

“ What is it ” he demanded, “ do you not see, man 
— ^we are already mounted for a journey ? ” 

“No journey do ye gang, no one o’ ye, till ye hae 
satisfied my just and lawful claims ! ” cried Prayerful 
Peter. “ The besoms that I treated like queens — yea, 
like the daughters o’ kings (you yoursel’ being witness, 
Mr. Grif Rysland), hae left me mourning like the 
afflicted dove. They hae gane withoot paying board 
and lodgin’ — four callendar months and near on to five 
since I saw the colour of their siller ! And the guid 
sawmont, and the grilse, the sea fish and the flat-fish, 
herrin’ fresh frae Sant Anders Bay, and saithe off the 


HAUNTED HAGS OF CRAIG WEARY 31 1 

rocks o’ the Black Point — a’ fished by my ain boats, 
drawn up on lines and in nets at the peril o’ my neph- 
ew’s life, mysel’ howking in the sand for bait till I 
shivered wi’ fear and cauld ! And then fit to dreep 
wi’ sweat when thae unhallowed deils o’ soldiers fired 
sma’ shot at puir Peter to gar him rin ! And for a’ 
that never a penny ! I hae corned to you for payment, 
Maister Captain Rysland, and payment I maun hae. 
Forbye a’ the boat service to settle, and the danger to 
my kith and kin — no to mention what this young man 
eat up yonder in the Cove ! But this is the wee bit 
note here. Ye will juist be payin’ it a’thegither, the 
noo ! ” 

“ Hold your tongue, man,” shouted Grif, losing 
all patience, do you not understand that the la- 
dies”— 

“ Leddies — ! ” began Peter with a snort. 

Grif drew one pistol from his holster. Raith took 
one from his, and each applied the muzzle to the near- 
est ear of the distressed creditor. 

“ Yes, ladies,” quoth Grif, “ one of them is my 
daughter ! ” 

“ Yes, ladies,” said Raith, “ of the other two, one 
is my mother, and the other my sister ! ” 

“ Ladies, then sure-i^ ” shrieked Peter in agony, 
“ put down your weepons, gentlemen ! But what am 
I to do for my guid siller ? I am a puir ruinated 
man — my hoose driven a’ to flinders — boots Guid 
kens whaur — my lodgers some gane, and the rest 
mounted to ride. Deil tak’ me, if I do not arrest 
thae horses in the name o’ the law ! ” 

“The horses are our father’s,” remarked Archie 
Simpson, “ Do you want us to draw our pistols 
also .? ” 

“ Do not be a fool, Peter,” said Raith, who was 
the coolest of the party. “ Can you not understand 
that the ladies have been carried off against their 


312 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


wills. We are going to find them. If you like, 
you can come with us and so make sure of your 
money ! ” 

“ He must provide himself with a horse then,” 
cried the elder of the Simpson’s. Our father can 
spare no more from the farm work.” 

“ Come,” cried Peter, “ that will I speedily, if so be 
that at the journey’s end ye promise me satisfaction 
for my outlays and troubles of mind, endured both by 
me and my nephew ! ” 

Prayerful Peter was as good as his word. He had 
a pony hidden away somewhere in some secret cove 
or ravine, for in ten minutes he had overtaken them, 
riding none so ill for a man of his years and weight. 

Now,” said Grif, who was still feeling his injuries, 
in spite of the easy-riding qualities of Mistress Simp- 
son’s Sabbath Peat-barrow, “hearken to me. Master 
Peter. For the sake of lucre you have forced your- 
self upon us — ” 

“To recover my just dues !” said Peter, “ also to 
further the Cause of the Oppressed ! ” 

“ Now, Sir,” continued Grif Rysland, sternly, 
“ you must do as you are bidden — ride and halt with 
the others, keep your tongue still, and fret us with no 
complaints. That is, if you do not want to be left at a 
dykeback with the corbies pyking at your banes ! 
Mind, I have not forgotten my old trade, Peter ! ” 

Of course Grif said this to intimidate their compan- 
ion. For they all judged it better to take him with 
them on such terms, than to leave Prayerful Peter to 
run the country, pouring the tale of his losses into 
every ear. 

On the journey it came to be a matter of course that 
Peter, who was acquainted with every inch of the 
ground and who from his experience in evading the 
authorities could keep well off the highways of traffic, 
was allowed to go on ahead, pointing out the ground 


HAUNTED HAGS OF CRAIG WEARY 313 

along which the party was to pass and in general act- 
ing as advance guard. 

It seemed sometimes to Raith as if Peter took rather 
too much upon himself, and as if upon more than one 
occasion he intentionally delayed them under pretext 
of a dangerous passage or a troop of horsemen cross- 
ing the valley on their way to the nearest garrison 
town. 

He had spoken of this to Grif, but he, preoccupied 
with the pain of his burns and the increasing difficulties 
of each march, answered merely that Peter knew him 
too well to play any tricks. 

Nevertheless Peter was playing tricks, though the 
present trick was an innocent one. They were at 
length well out on that great heathery plateau which 
stretches from the Lammermoors and Moorfoots south 
to the Solway. Many a moss had they to ride around, 
yet ever they returned to their appointed route, bear- 
ing southwest — the direction of the party which had 
carried off Ivie and her companions. 

A black peaty ridge, in reality elevated from the 
plain only a few feet, but seeming mountainous in that 
weary level of bent and heather, rose directly before 
them, and at sight of it Peter’s agitation grew almost 
painful. Raith pointed out to him what seemed a 
dryer route. 

“ No — no,” he answered, his teeth chattering with 
anxiety, ‘‘the Hags o’ Craig Weary — the Haunted 
Hags o’ Craig Weary are a kenned place. Mony is 
the prayer that has been put up there. If there be 
Wanderers of the persecuted and scattered remnant 
onywhere on these wild uplands, they will surely be 
found at the Hags o’ Craig Weary.” 

Raith glanced at his informant’s face. There was 
something in it he did not trust, but it was evident to 
him that Grif could not go much further without rest, 
and really the place was as safe as any — a deep hollow 


314 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


scooped in the face of the moor, with dry eyots and 
peninsulas and heather amid the green scum of the 
morasses. 

All at once Archie Simpson held up his hand, and 
the whole cavalcade stopped as one man. The spirit 
of caution infected even the horses in these days. 
Clear on the thin chill breeze of even there came to 
their ears the plaintive rise and fall of a psalm. 

“ The Folk ! ” cried Peter, with something like a 
sincere joy, “ they are there ! We shall see — perhaps 
we will get word — of the boats!"' 

You rascal ! ” said Grif, “ I believe you have 
brought us here on purpose.” 

“ And you will live to thank me all your days. Cap- 
tain Grif,” said the unabashed Peter, “ you could have 
come to no better place. Wait — I will go forward 
and see.” 

“ No — ” commanded Grif, “do nothing of the sort. 
I would not trust you alone the length of twenty ells. 
Go with him, Raith. The rest will wait you here. 
But first lay me out on the heather, and let Archie 
there, attend to me.” 

“ Could not Archie go as well as I Raith asked 
the question in a low voice. He hated to let another 
do a hand’s turn for Ivie’s father. Nevertheless he 
went, slowly and on foot. It was a singular sight 
which met his eyes at the edge of the moss. 

Deep in the bosom of a cup of peat from which 
most of the moisture had sucked away, Raith saw a 
little company of men upon their knees. The psalm 
had been sung and now one erect among the others, 
prayed. He could hardly believe his eyes. It was 
Mr. Peden himself. William Ellison knelt beside him, 
with a hand on Gil’s shoulder. Under his feet were 
the full muster of the prisoners from the Bass. And 
yonder on a little hillock, keeping his watch, with a 
gun at his shoulder held clumsily like an oar, Raith 


HAUNTED HAGS OF CRAIG WEARY 315 

spied out Long-bodied John. He was making a 
friendly signal to his uncle, and the gesture left no 
doubt in Raith’s mind that the rendezvous had been 
prearranged. 

‘^Wheesht till he is done!” whispered Peter in 
Raith’s ear,” or else he will maybe curse us. Sandy 
Peden is no a man to be crossin’ when the spirit o’ the 
Lord is upon him! ” 

And they could hear the voice of the Prophet, 
more in rhapsody than in prayer. 

** Be ye still and listen! — For though we draw the 
sword, and there is blood yet to be shed, yet not by 
the sword shall safety come to this poor land ! Woe 
to them that are at ease in Zion ! If ye draw the 
sword ye shall perish by the sword. Yet though we 
flee before our cruel enemies and though the blood of 
God’s chosen runs like water on these moors and 
mountains, yet that is better than the blast of snell 
east-withering wind that (ere I be long in my grave at 
the gallows-foot) shall blow upon this land. Woe is 
me for the fine gold that is grown dim and the most 
fine gold that is changed — for the precious sons of 
Zion, comparable to fine gold, that shall be esteemed 
as earthen vessels.” 

** But ” (he continued, turning his closed eyes to 
where Raith and Peter Paton were hidden behind their 
peat-rig) ** I see some that have been wandering, prod- 
igals in a far land, and are now being brought nigh. 
For so much, give glory to God. Yet among them there 
is one who thinks only of carrying the bag, and careth 
not for the poor — yet because every man may find 
what he seeks for, he too shall not go without his re- 
ward.” 

“He means,” whispered Peter, jubilantly, “ that the 
boats are safe and that I shall get my siller. I wish 
he had mentioned aboot the paint, and if the sails 
were onway sair tashed I” 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


316 

Mr. Peden ended without amen or benediction, 
which also was his custom. For he affirmed that those 
who won to heaven would have all eternity for a bene- 
diction, while those who did not, would be none the 
better of all the benedictions that were ever said or 
sung. In which, certainly, there was some reason and 
truth. 

“ And now,” said Peden suddenly resuming his nat- 
ural voice, come your ways forward, lads. I bid you 
welcome. William Ellison, this is your son, your 
true son Raith, to whom more than any other you owe 
your deliverance from prison, and to whom in the 
days to come ye shall owe yet more. Lay your hand 
on the lad’s head, and take your hasty curse back 
again, lest it blight you in That Day — the day when 
at the sound of a trumpet ye shall stand before the 
White Throne.” 

And as Raith came rather uncertainly forward, Mr. 
Peden ran to him with an alertness extraordinary in 
so frail a man, and one so worn by years and trials. 
He took the young man by the hand, and put it in 
that of his father, who was now standing up in his 
place, his face pale, and his lips trembling. 

“Is it even so ” he said, “ are you my very son — 
my youngest son Raith, and has the spirit of the 
Lord worked in you also ? ” He put his hand out to 
feel Raith’s dress. 

“No soldier’s coat — no more the garb of Satan ? 
And he girt his fisher’s coat to him for he was naked ! ” 
he murmured as if to himself. 

Gil grasped his brother’s hand silently, and would 
have compelled him to sit down. But in a few words 
Raith told of the quest he had come upon, and how 
Captain Grif had been hurt in saving the soldier out 
of the burning gate-house upon the Bass. 

And when William Ellison frosted a little at the 
name of the ancient governor of the King’s prison, 


HAUNTED HAGS OF CRAIG WEARY 317 

Mr. Peden said quickly, He is indeed yet a man of 
desires. But fear not, for him also the angels of 
God stand waiting ! ” 

So, leaving Prayerful Peter to talk apart with his 
nephew, Raith strode back over the heather, and soon 
Grif and the young Simpson lads were among the pris- 
oners whom they had aided to escape. It was 
a strange meeting there in the black heart of the mo- 
rasses, and yet even here, they were by no means safe. 
For it was the hottest time of the persecution and par- 
ties of military were continually on the move from 
post to post. 

It was a quiet evening showing only a sober russet 
flush before the long grey gloaming of the moors. 
William Ellison sat, strangely sweetened and changed, 
his son's hand in his. 

I have never been against you in my heart, son 
Raith,” he said. God kept me from that great sin. 
And though I laid the ban upon you, it was done in 
haste and without hatred.” 

“ Yet for that shall you be punished, William,” 
said Mr. Peden, and though the punishment shall 
not come through one son, it shall through another. 
But neither in the day of shame curse him, lest he 
cry to the Lord against you. For,”( said he, looking up 
to heaven) “ I would rather be compassed about with 
armies of armed men — yea, with drawn swords and in- 
struments of death, than have mine own curse which 
my proper lips have uttered, return back upon my 
head. ” 


CHAPTER XLII 


AN HIGH HILL AS THE HILL OF BASHAN 

Many were the remarkable sayings uttered by Mr. 
Peden among the Hags of Craig Weary. Indeed some 
of them have since been imprinted as prophecies, which 
they never were, or at least not so in any direct sense. 
The fate of the earnest seeker after God, even though 
circled with perils and fainting under his cross, con- 
trasted with the lot of the evil and bloody man who 
should not live out half his days — formed the chiefest 
part of his meditations. 

Yet sometimes he had visions, and then he would 
speak strange things, which seemed to come to him 
from above. Speaking, for instance of the care which 
weighed on the hearts of Grif and the Ellisons, and 
yet more heavily on the young heart of Raith, he had 
these remarkable expressions : No harm hath yet 
befallen them — I see them in a grey towered house 
amid high cliffs and trees. The ungodly are there in 
great number, but there is one also who draws a sharp 
sword, and with it strikes a great enemy of the truth. 
Yet the Lord shall move even the hearts of the great 
ones of the land to protect the helpless. Nevertheless 
even so, of peril there is no lack for all of us — ^both 
with them and also in this place. Let us go to the 
Hill which is called Aron.” 

And as soon as Grif was a little recovered from his 
weariness, the thing was done. For not only were 
there parties of the troopers observed crossing some 
part of the waste and beating it as if for a quarry, but 


HIGH AS THE HILL OF BASHAN 319 

there was another reason, still more imperative — their 
need of food. For though there were nigh a dozen 
to be provided for, save the moor-berries, scanty fare 
at best and ill to stomach, there was naught to be 
found on all the great waste of Craig Weary. 

True, so far as the regular soldiers were concerned, 
they were mostly either very far to the north crossing 
towards Straiven or very far to the south on their way 
to Crichton Peel. 

But Mr. Peden hasted their departure, saying, 
“ There cometh one to seek for us that will soon smell 
us out. He comes after us hot of foot, and with intent 
to kill. He will seek till he find, and empty the muir of 
Craig Weary as a man empties an egg with a spoon ! ” 

Now the hill of Ben Aron, of which Mr. Peden 
spoke, was a little rocky mountain, the last northerly 
outpost of the Galloway Hills as they break down into 
the level moor. It had long been counted a safe 
place. For there was a cave there, and a river ran 
slow in a close loop about two-thirds of it, whilst the 
other third was protected by a breast of rock high and 
defensible as that of a built fortification. 

From the Hags of Craig Weary, Ben Aron could be 
seen on fine days far away to the south-west, a fine 
crest of jagged blue against the rolling outline of the 
higher mountains behind. Moreover there was a cul- 
tivated well-doing country about, and behind, thousands 
upon thousands of acres of sheep-tracks, where the 
shepherds and their masters were to a man favourers 
of the wanderers, nor grudged a sheep or two for their 
larder in time of need, knowing well that where the. 
Covenant folk frequented, thieves never came. 

It was a painful journey across the brown moorland. 
It seemed to Grif that never would he set leg across a 
horse again. But something occurred which hurried 
them. 

As they were crossing the wild in a scattered band, 


320 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


some riding double on horseback, others leading the 
overweighted steeds or in front pointing out the way, 
a large body of troopers was observed heading in their 
direction. At first it appeared that these men were 
simply crossing towards Sanquhar, and at sight of 
them Grif ordered all his party to lie down in the 
nearest crevasse of the peaty moor. But it chanced 
that Long-bodied John, less accustomed to the charge 
of a horse than to the demeanour of a boat, let slip the 
reins of his pony, which instantly went bounding and 
prancing over the bog, flourishing its heels and fling- 
ing back its head in the delight of disobedience and 
freedom. 

Even so, it seemed for a moment as if the band of 
horsemen would continue its march. But after a vain 
attempt at recapture had been made, it was evident 
that the soldiers had halted to consult. Then a de- 
tachment of a dozen broke off from the main body 
and rode straight in the direction of the fugitives. 

There could no longer be any doubt that the party 
was discovered. Grif instantly ordered all who had 
horses to mount the old and infirm of the party and 
make as fast as might be for the Hill of Ben Aron. 
Luckily the distance was not great, but the advancing 
party had by much the easier route, and at the first 
sight of the fugitives on the open face of the moor, a 
shot was fired by the party of reconnaissance, proba- 
bly as a signal to the main body. 

Now there followed a moment of great anxiety. If 
Grif and his people failed to reach Ben Aron first, and 
to protect themselves behind the breast-work of rock, 
they would assuredly be ridden down upon the open 
plain, which at this point, perhaps because of the 
drainage of the river, was well adapted for the evolu- 
tions of horse. 

As they made what haste they could, Grif looked 
wistfully at the tall, ridgy hill (which in the East- 


HIGH AS THE HILL OF BASHAN 321 

country would have been called a Law) with its dark 
rocks and dense cover of hazel and birch bushes. As 
the enemy advanced towards them they spread out in 
a fan. 

“ Ah,” said Grif, “ those fellows are commanded 
by a man who knows his trade. He does that to dis- 
turb our aim if we should attempt to return their 
fire.” 

And indeed the horsemen did begin to ride up and 
down, weaving in and out intricately, but no longer 
advancing quickly. 

“ Something is holding them — something we do not 
see ! ” said Grif, “ we shall make it yet ! ” 

Then young Mr. Grey of Chryston, brother to him 
that was killed at Ayrs Moss with Mr. Cameron, 
asked permission to say a word. 

“ Sir,” he said to Captain Rysland, “ I know this 
country. That band of horsemen yonder can do us 
no hurt for the present. They are on the wrong side 
of the river ! ” 

“ Which river, pray ? ” demanded Grif, who saw none. 

“ The Aron Water, sir,” said Grey “ we call it the 
Lane of Aron. It is slow and very deep — the bottom 
black peaty sludge mixed with quicksand — no horses 
could win through. What, they are for trying it 
after all ! ” 

And indeed one bold fellow, riding well ahead of 
his company, set his beast’s head to the water and 
plunged in. But at the very first floundering leap, 
something seemed to pull the charger under with a 
jerk. The rider was entangled in his stirrup-irons. 
The black water leaped up sullen and sprayless, heavy 
as lead. It seem to engulf both horse and man. They 
sank from sight in those fatal deeps, and were seen 
no more — while a loud and angry cry arose from his 
companions in the ranks behind. 

Nevertheless no one dared to venture nearer the 
21 


322 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


water of death, on the still and sullen surface of which 
floated a draggled hat-plume, the feathers of which 
had but lately flaunted so cavalierly on the breeze of 
the uplands. 

But presently as if in revenge, the fusillade crackled. 
The smoke floated up from the short cavalry carbines. 
The men, gay in their red coats, rode here and there 
seeking a place of crossing — but perhaps not too anx- 
ious to find it. 

Grif watched their evolutions with a fine contempt. 

“ Militia,” he said, “ and if I am not mistaken the 
Laird of Lag’s command.” Meanwhile the wander- 
ers were hastening on towards the hill of safety. 

“Do not hurry,” cried Grif, “the bullets cannot 
reach you. They are but wasting ammunition. No, 
(he added privately to Raith) do not reply. We will 
save our powder and ball for more immediate con- 
sumption.” 

The second and larger party of the troopers had 
now come up with the advance guard, and there was 
another halt for consultation. 

“ Lag is finding out his mistake,” said Grif, “ he 
will now do what he ought to have done at first — fol- 
low the water up till he finds a ford. How far might 
that be .? ” 

“ A matter of three miles for horses of that weight,” 
said Grey of Chryston, with the confidence of knowl- 
edge. Grif motioned with his hand towards Ben 
Aron, and all proceeded to climb the narrow and diffi- 
cult way which led across bare rocks and by slippery 
footholds into that rocky fortress. 

“ It is as well,” said Grif, “ that the river happened 
to be where it is, and the enemy on the farther side. 
Otherwise they could have stood at their ease below 
and tumbled us off three at a time as we came up 
these rocks — goat-paths — naught else. I wonder how 
the horses kept their footing ! ” 


HIGH AS THE HILL OF BASHAN 323 

For, saving the pony which had first escaped and so 
called the attention of the enemy, horse and man were 
now safe within. That fidgety brute, however, fol- 
lowed along the river, neighing across to the troop 
horses on the other side. 

Grif, having been set down in a nook of heather and 
bracken, from which he could see spread out before 
him, as on a map, the whole level floor up which they 
had come, and down which the enemy would follow 
them as soon as he had found a ford, began at once to 
organise his defenses. There were five muskets only 
among the party which had been guided inland by 
Long-bodied John, including that which he himself 
carried so awkwardly. Of these two were in the hands 
of picked and noted marksmen, young Grey of Chrys- 
ton and Steel of Lesmahago. It was impossible to 
persuade the third out of the hands of Long-bodied 
John, even though (as everyone imagined) that would 
prove to be no better than a piece thrown away. Then 
as a matter of course Gil had one, which he would use 
quietly, soberly and with effect, as indeed Gil did 
everything. Grif and his party were of course all 
well-armed. Raith Ellison was named commander of 
the actual defence, Grif reserving to himself a place in 
the centre, from which he could bring to bear a pair 
of muskets on the difficult path by which they had 
themselves reached the top of the rocky breast-work. 

For indeed the place was a real fortress, isolated 
and well-nigh impregnable. One may see the same 
thing in climbing towards Loch Enoch from the val- 
ley of Neldrichen. But, in addition, at the Hill of 
Aron there is plenty of cover for concealed marksmen, 
the green waving of hazel bushes and hanging sprays 
of birch, springing out of the niches of the rock. 

There were two weak places in the defence, namely 
where the breastwork fell away at either side into the 
loop of the river, where it took a turn about the hill, 


324 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


and, but for the tongue of land by which they had 
arrived, would have succeeded in making it wholly an 
island. At both comers, but especially on the west- 
ern side, there was a place at which a bold fellow 
might attempt an escalade. Then, once arrived at the 
top, he might open an oblique fire upon the men lying 
behind the breastwork. “In fact,” said Grif, “ if they 
find their way up there, they will completely enfilade 
our position!” 

“ Then I will take that western angle myself, with 
young Chryston or some other good man as a com- 
panion!” said Raith, his spirits, as ever, rising at the 
thought of danger, and still more that he was to fight 
under the eyes of Ivie’s father. Grif Rysland shook 
his head. “No,” he said, “ I cannot do without you, 
tied here by the leg or rather wanting the legs, I 
must have you free to see that every man is doing his 
duty. To whom, think you, shall we give the place.?” 

“ Grey seems a clever fellow,” said Raith, meditat- 
ing, “but we do not know him well enough yet. 
What say you to Gil, my brother. He is a good 
marksman, and if you tell him to do a thing, he will 
stay and do it, as the saying goes ‘till the kye come 
hame.?’ Then let Grey have the other comer, and give 
each a young Simpson — they are brave lads, but lack 
ballast, while Gil has ballast enough for Captain Ted- 
diman’s Swiftsure"' 

“ But will not your brother wish to stay by your 
father.?” suggested Grif, pleased by his lieutenant’s 
quick dispositions. 

“ Let Mr. Peden go with him to the cave,” said 
Raith at once, “it is on the other side. They will be 
in complete safety, and even Peter Paton can stand a 
watch there, to see that no tricks are tried on the 
river-front.” 

At this moment, and while Raith was gone to carry 
out Grif’s instructions and his own suggestions. Prayer- 


HIGH AS THE HILL OF BASHAN 325 

ful Peter came up to the Captain, as he lay on his 
couch of tall brown grass and bracken fronds. 

And it is to this that I hae come he began, 
with a certain truculence, “ me that has been a man 
of peace and never was within ear-shot o’ the sounds 
o’ war, longer than the time it took my heels to leave 
them ahint! Am I, Peter Pat on, to be prisoned on 
this sorrowfu’ hill, to be ta’n and judged in the com- 
pany of kenned rebels and manslayers And then as 
like as not, the Grassmarket and the confiscation o’ a’ 
my guids and chattels.” 

“As like as not,” said Grif, smiling, “but you 
should think of the joys of martyrdom. You were 
discoursing about suffering for the Cause only the 
other day ” 

“ The joys o’ martyrdom,” cried Peter shaking his 
fist over his head, “man, I couldna even be happy 
amang the joys o’ heeven if I thocht that a’ the guid 
gear I hae won and thocht for, and toiled for, was a’ 
gane bleezin’ up like a wisp o’ strae on a bonfire. Na, 
na, harps and wings and siclike wad be but a puir, 
puir compensation for Peter ! Methinks he wad e’en 
scrape himsel’ a hole in the stoor like a drookit 
chuckie-hen, and sit there thinkin’ on his braw hoose 
and his twa bonny boats, and a’ the brand-new nets 
and gear. And, to tell ye the truth. Captain Grif, do 
ye think that even the noo — could I no hae onything 
on account ? If it were only twenty pound, it wad be a 
kind o’ consolation to me to die wi’ it in my breast- 
pocket, and ken that I wasna a’ thegether cheated o’ 
my just dues ! ” 

“ Out of this, friend Peter,” cried Grif who had had 
enough of the mariner, “ is this a time to be dunning 
us for money ? Where are we to get gold and silver, 
think you, in this waste ? Bullets are like to be more 
plentiful ! ” 

“ But a wee scribe o’ your hand, oh. Captain,” 


326 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

pleaded his creditor, “ just sayin’ that the amount was 
due on your estate — save us, that wad aye be some- 
thing to a puir dyin' man ! ” 

“ Raith,” called out Captain Grif, << take that man 
up to the cave, and bid Mr. Peden pray for him. He 
is beyond me, standing yammering there for his abomi- 
nable money, when we are all like to be shot ere the 
gloaming ! ” 

“ Oh, sir, sir,” cried out Prayerful Peter, ** I beseech 
ye to no mak’ a bad worse ! Dinna tell the Prophet, 
or he would wither me wi’ a look. < Thy siller perish 
with thee !’ he said to me only the ither day. Terri- 
ble words — sir, I hae never had them oot o’ my head 
a minute since — . To think that a' the gear in the 
world, and in especial a’ that puir Peter Paton has got- 
ten together wi’ siccan pains, should a’ gang fleein’ up 
in fiery flame at the world’s end ! It gars me wauken 
up in the nicht season, sir, a’ in a dawn o’ fear and 
drookit wi’ sweat — as if I had loupit frae Hughie’s 
Rock into the Frith itsel’ ! ” 

Take him away,” cried Grif ‘*and never let me 
see his face again. If you can contrive something to 
keep him quiet on the other side, I shall be grateful. 
Warn him that if he wishes to keep a whole skin, he 
must not come within pistol-shot of Grif Rysland till 
he is sent for — or, by Tubal Cain, I shall mark him ! 
He shall have, at least an instalment of his claim — an 
ounce of lead on account ! ” 


CHAPTER XLIII 


THE WILES OF PRAYERFUL PETER 

It was indeed Lag, who with the instinct of the 
bloodhound, aided by the very exact informations of 
Beattie Ellison, had succeeded in crossing the track of 
the fugitives. Very nearly had he missed his mark. 
The breaking loose of a restive pony from the unaccus- 
tomed hands of Long-bodied John, had brought pur- 
suer and pursued face to face. 

“Say rather,” cried Mr. Peden, when Prayerful 
Peter groaned over the accident as they sat together 
in the cave, “ say rather the mysterious providences of 
that God, who hath suffered these Stewarts to be such 
evil Stewards of his Kingdom of Scotland these twen- 
ty year and more — though he could at any moment 
have cut them off in their Babylonian pride. But 
behold, even for them the writing on the wall is writ- 
ten ! ” 

“ An awesome man,” thought Peter, “ he will be 
on my back next. I will e’en make my ways outside 
and there find quiet in meditation.” 

And so he did, sitting on a stone high above the 
broad oval sweep of the Aron water, which lapped the 
foot of the precipices. The higher mountains rose above 
him too far off even for the besiegers’ cannon to have 
had any effect on the natural fortress of Ben Aron. 

Then after looking carefully about him to observe 
that no one was near, Peter drew a small closely writ- 
ten account-book out of an inner pocket. It was ruled 
throughout with columns for figures, while curious 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


328 

hieroglyphics — X’s and O’s of different sizes and de- 
signs, explained to Peter himself the state of his 
finances. 

He summed and sighed, and sighed and summed. 
At intervals he shook his head. 

“ If I could hae made it the neat five thousand ster- 
ling, I declare I wad e’ en hae died happy ! ’' he said, 
“ but we maun a’ summit to His wull ! And yet, 
(with a brighter look) in a manner of speaking it is 
my ain. For wi’ the Captain’s indebtedness for his lass, 
and the grassum for John’s saving her life — (which 
should be fifty pound at the least — forty-nine to me 
and ane to John — it is aye befitting to be generous !) — , 
and considerin’ my trouble and expense wi’ thae rich 
Ellison folk, and the boats and a’ — I think we micht 
safely and decently make it a hundred-and-fifty — in a 
mainner mine already ! ” 

He had added the figures slowly. “And that wad 
make juist five-thousand gowden guineas. Its an awe- 
some sum to hing on the frail thread o’ ae man’s life ! 
It’s a strange thing in Providence when ye come to 
think on’t. By richts a man should hae twa lives — 
one to make his siller, and the ither to enjoy it.” 

He turned the leaves rapidly — accounts and items. 
All were interesting to him. His eye caught an en- 
try in his own peculiar secret writing. He spelled it 
out. “ ‘ Beef, hams and kippered herring for the Hill 
Folks — twa hundred pound (Scots) ’ — Ah if that had 
only been pounds Sterling — what a coamfort ! But 
what’s this ? * Send by powny-back to the cave on the 
Hill of Aron ! ’ Faith now, that’s the very place we are 
sittin’ on the noo. And here is the note o’ the twa 
pownies back-cornin’ and the chairge — sixteen pounds 
(Scots) for ilka ane ! ” 

“ Noo,” said Prayerful Peter, scratching his head, 
“ what say ye if I could find a’ this guid meat and viv- 
ers ? They are, in a manner o’ speakin’, my very ain. 


THE WILES OF PRAYERFUL PETER 329 


I micht e’en sell them a’ ower again ! The folk that 
bought them are near a’ deid ! But, let me think, 
there’s that young Grey o’ Chryston — his faither was 
cautioner for the proveesioning o’ the cave. Na, Peter, 
that winna do. He micht tell the tale, and that wild 
ettercap o’ a Grif Rysland wad think nae mair o’ thraw- 
ing my neck, than if I was ane o’ thae rabbits there 
on the hill-face — for a’ that I hae dune for him and 
his!” 

Peter looked about him slowly and cunningly. He 
must find the provisions first, and then he could stay 
awake as long as need be that night, planning what 
advantage he might obtain from discovering the treas- 
ure-trove to the others. 

“ They could never be in the muckle cave there,” he 
meditated, “ where Mr. Peden is keeping up such a 
din of praying. No — they would rather be in some 
wee covert, easy to get at, and most likely on the side 
nearest the face of rock. 

So arguing he went cautiously about the hill, till he 
could look over, and then he started back with a cry. 
For advancing up the narrow tongue of land came a 
hundred horsemen, all in red coats, and nobly arrayed, 
keeping line and order, drums beating in Whitehall 
fashion on the saddle-bow, and all as gallant as an or- 
dered show, with banner advanced, and plumes and 
pennons fluttering. 

In front rode a tall man on a great roan horse. Pride 
was in his port, but one arm (and that the right) was in 
a sling. That was where Ivie’s thrust had taken him. 
Perhaps because of the too early journey it promised 
to irk him longer than Roddie had foretold. 

Behind the rocks Peter could seethe defenders lying 
each man at his post, his gun at his shoulder, his pow- 
der-flask and accoutrements at hand. But only the 
head of Captain Grif was to be seen above the barri- 
cade with which nature had defended the Hill of Aron. 


330 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


He saw too Raith hurrying to and fro with orders and 
suggestions. Peter desired much to turn and flee, but 
something chained him to the spot. 

It’s bound to be aboot here,” he murmured, << they 
wad come up through the hazels yonder, and aboot the 
hassock o’ rocks, and faith — if that is no the mouth 
o’t ! ” 

He put his weight to an upright stone, rolled it over, 
carefully detached a tangle of ivy which clung to the 
cliff, and found himself in the entrance hall of a little 
cavern. Looking in, Peter saw the tiny barrels, in which 
at that time kippered herring were packed for transport 
upon pony-back, lining the sides, while from a great 
barrel at the corner brine was manifestly oozing — 
salted beef to a certainty, for there was a frosting of 
salt crystals about the edge of the lid, and from the 
roof various smoked hams depended. It was the cache 
of Craig Aron. 

Here’s proveesion for an army,” said Peter to 
himself. “ I’ll e’n hae a chack noo while I am thinkin* 
things over. They wad never hae fand this trove but 
for me — nor me but for this bonny wee book, blessings 
on its yellow back ! But losh, what’s that — they are 
begun the shootin ! Dear me, it’s an awesome thing 
to be trapped like this, and me a man o’ condition, and 
worth near on to five thousand yellow Chairlies. 
Chairles Stuart may have been an ill king on the 
throne, but, certes^ Peter Paton has nae faut to find wi* 
his lang nose on a braw clinkin’ guinea ! ” 

He peeped out, but the smoke of battle blew sul- 
phureously up in his face and a chance bullet ricochet- 
ting among the rocks, caused him to draw in his head 
in a hurry. 

Sirce, me ! ” he cried, “and if there’s no Lang- 
bodied John — that’s as guid as a hunder pund a year 
to me, riskin’ his life — that is, in a manner o’ speakin’, 
my life, amang a’ the fleein’ bullets and the deadly 


THE WILES OF PRAYERFUL PETER 331 

swords ! Noo, I’m wonderin’ if I couldna mak’ a chairge 
for that ! It would only be just and richt ! ” 

He drew out his vellum-covered volume again to 
make a suitable entry, but the sharp cries of command, 
the persistent crackle of musketry, the sight of the 
gapped ranks of the soldiers, and more particularly 
a nearer view of Raith and James Simpson carefully 
carrying something to the rear, fascinated his atten- 
tion on the scene beneath. 

“ Save us — save us,” he cried, “ but if this be what 
‘ Sufferin’ for the Cause’ is like in the south, I for one 
wish that I had never put my neb out o’ sight o* 
Berwick Law. There are guid folk eneuch thereaboot, 
but they let the sodgers gang decently by, and dinna 
lie ahint rocks blaffin’ at them wi’ guns and pistolets ! ” 
Angry as Lag was, and eagerly as he anticipated 
the important capture which he seemed now about 
to make, he could not but see the folly of losing more 
men in a frontal attack by cavalry upon a strongly 
held and naturally defensible position, which could only 
be carried by a well-led attack on foot. 

So after several final discharges he drew off, carry- 
ing his wounded to the number of seven or eight, 
with him. Some dead remained on the field — perhaps 
five in all. So that in this skirmish Lag had lost the 
services of no less than fifteen of his hundred men, 
besides many horses which had galloped wounded 
from the field or now limped painfully after their 
wounded masters. 

“ It is over for the night,” said Peter. Oh, if I 
could only soom (swim) — to think on a seafaring man 
never having learned to soom ! What could my faither 
hae been thin kin’ on. But he was aye a worldling, con- 
cerned only for his ain gear an gettin’ — and after a’ deil 
a penny o’t did he leave to me ! But though I could 
soom, the quicksands wad pu’ ye under like that 
dragooner and his horse — and a’ my accounts and 


332 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


papers in this buik. Na, hanged or no hanged, Peter ! 
ye maun juist bide and see it oot. Maybe ye can per- 
suade the captain o’ the King’s troops that ye were a 
prisoner, and hadden by the Whigs again your will. 
It wad be worth tryin’, onyway. Let me see — I used 
to ken some fine braid oaths when I was a laddie, 
afore I experienced a change ! That wad please him, 
if onything — especially if, as I think, it is Roarin’ Rab 
Grier o’ the Lag ! ” 

But at that moment Peter heard the voice of Grey 
of Chryston, who, released from his post, was mount- 
ing the hill along with Raith. They, too, were in 
search of something. 

It should be somewhere here,” said young Grey, 
my father was at the hidin’ of the provend — And he 
always told me it was on the side looking on to the 
plain, averse from the river and not in the main 
cave — .” 

At the sound of their discourse Prayerful Peter 
issued out, the light of self-sacrifice on his face. 

“ Gentlemen,” he cried, ‘‘as I told you, I am no gleg 
hand at the fighting with gun and musket, with sword 
or baggonet. So this day I have wrestled, not with 
carnal weapons, but in fervent supplication — so that 
there has been revealed unto me this precious store 
of vivers, food for the body for many days — all which, 
though I might have keeped for mysel’, I freely deliver 
to you for the Good of the Cause, hoping only to be 
rewarded hereafter, and seeking no reward on this 
earth ! ” 

“ No,” said young Grey, smartly, “ indeed I should 
think not, seeing that my father paid you two prices 
already for every pennyworth of it ! ” 

Prayerful Peter flung up his hands and his eyes with 
one action. 

“ I am one of the meek of the earth,” he said. 
** what I have done, I have done. I have found the 


THE WILES OF PRAYERFUL PETER 333 

provender, when none else could, and neither the mock 
of tongues nor the contempt of sinners can deprive me 
of the inward delights of a conscience void of offence ! ” 

“ Stand out of the way,” said Raith, hastily, for he 
had the birr of battle yet upon him, and was not in- 
clined to measure words with Peter. “ Did I not bid 
you stay with Mr. Peden — besides which you are well 
aware what Captain Grif promised you if he caught 
you on this side of the hill.” 

Peter’s lips moved as he went meekly and forgivingly 
away. 

It was a pity,” he said, “ but after all I did the 
best. There was just a chance that that young lad 
Grey (deil tak’ him !) should not ken o’ the cave. But,” 
he murmured “ for these ill words and hard usages. 
It is a comfort to think that I can aye add something 
to the reckoning when it comes to settling day ! Aye, 
it is a comfort that ! ” 

When Peter reached the cave in which William 
Ellison and the Prophet remained together, he found 
them both fallen silent, and forthwith he began to re- 
late the wonderful providences of which he had been 
witness and partaker — the defeat and retirement of 
the dragooners, the losses they had sustained, and his 
own fortunate discovery of the cave with the provisions. 
He had begun to urge the need of remembering this 
to his own credit. 

But Peden looked him through and through. Then 
he paused a little as if to decide whether or not he was 
worth wasting words upon. But all that he said was 
only this : 


Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord 1 


CHAPTER XLIV 


THE FIGHT IN THE MIST 

The defences of the Hill of Aron are easy to be 
understood — the river making a bend like the head of 
a pair of sheep-shears — round the craggy bosky moun- 
tain, the only way of attack being along the shank of 
the level shelterless plain, the narrow pass guarded by 
a solid curtain of rock up which one difficult path 
straggled — Ben Aron was altogether a place which 
might have been held against an army. 

But Sir Robert Grier of Lag was not a man to be 
discouraged by a little, nor had he come so far to go 
home, as he said ** with his finger in his mouth.” 

He had still eighty-five good men, and from the re- 
ports of those who had remarked the musket shots, 
he made out that a dozen at the outside was the num- 
ber of the defenders. 

** They are noways ordinary Covenanters,” he said 
to Roddie, ** no canting Psalm-singer would have chosen 
such a place to fight in. Think of them at Dunbar 
when they stood against Noll, at Loudon Hill even 
when they chased Clavers, at Bothwell, and at the 
Moss of Ayr — why, to get on the level with a ditch in 
front, and be shot down, or ridden down, or cut down, 
while their ministers prayed their loudest — these were 
ever the tactics of the Saints ! ” 

If it pleasure you to hear it,” said Roddie, I 
judge that the fact of this stubborn defence assures 
us of our principal prize — the late Governor of th^ 
Bass — a very extraordinary man. Sir Robert ! ” 


THE FIGHT IN THE MIST 


335 


** So extraordinary that shooting will be too good 
for him — I must think of something else ! ” said his 
chief. 

** Yes, and have the Government take him out of 
your hands while you are thinking,” said Roddie, “ for 
me I advise a well-nourished volley within five minutes 
of his taking ! ” 

“ We have to take him first, though,” said Lag,^ 
and find our ways up that ugly craggy rock there ! ” • 

He looked up at Ben Aron as he spoke with mani- 
fest disfavour. 

“ A cannon would be no inconsiderable help,” he 
mused, “ but we dare not wait to send for it. We 
should have Colonel Grahame at our heels to take all 
the credit, and have the prisoners tried at Edinburgh 
according to law.” 

Finally Roddie and his master arranged the great 
assault for the early morning of the next day. 

‘*We must overpower them with numbers,” said 
Lag, “Grif Rysland is an old bird to catch nap- 
ping.” 

The dry fog called ‘‘the Hill-folks Mist” blew over 
the level moorland at four o’clock of the following 
morning. Many a time and oft it had hidden the 
wanderers from the anger of their enemies. But now 
on the contrary, under cover of it, two-thirds of Lag’s 
force found themselves unseen and unexpected, to all 
appearances, at the bottom of the steep wall, and im- 
mediately under the guns of the sleeping garrison. 

Out on the plain the watch-fires were still winking, 
and Lag’s troop-horses neighed at their pickets. But 
about the Hill of Aron there was a great silence. Lag 
had detached twenty men to attempt a diversion 
towards the hills at the back. They were to keep up 
a steady fire, and if possible, should they come upon 
any trunks of trees or material fit for a raft, they were 
to attempt the passage seriously. At any rate their 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


336 

action would divide the garrison, and make the success 
of the frontal attack almost certain. 

Sir Robert himself remained, like Grif, a little back 
on a knoll from which he could command the most 
part of the battle-field. Here, he fretted at his own 
inaction. For to render the devil his due. Lag was no 
coward in battle, whatever my Lord of Liddesdale 
might hint as to his disrelish for single combat. 

But to catch the weasel asleep was a simple matter 
compared with the task of finding Grif Rysland un- 
prepared. From the night movements athwart the 
militia camp-fires, from the unsleeping hum and bustle 
among the men, he had long ago deduced a night at- 
tack. The neighing of horses, and the distant sound 
of orders given in a military manner from across the 
river, informed him that there would be also an attack 
in the rear, or at least the semblance of it. Accord- 
ingly he despatched the elder Simpson with one of the 
more active prisoners. Turner of Crochmore, to watch 
Lag’s squadron as it rounded the hill, and be ready to 
fire upon them, if they attempted to cross the water 
and take the position in the rear. Grif Rysland did 
not, ‘however, believe that there was for the present 
any idea of that. 

Upon passing the cave James Simpson cried in as 
to their errand, and Peden, seizing a musket which 
had been left there for their protection, declared 
to their utter surprise that he would march with 
them. 

And do you, William Ellison,” he said, abide 
here and uphold all our hands in prayer ! Sandy — 
auld Sandy, there remains but little time to you 
upon the earth. Ye have prayed long enough, may- 
hap sometimes even wearied Him with your cryings 
and groanings. Now see if you can do any better at 
the fighting trade. If a bullet comes your way, it will 
be the quicker way — ^goin’ — even as Richard died at 


THE FIGHT IN THE MIST 


337 

Ayrs Moss, so it was good to die ! It was but the 
other day that I sat upon his tomb ! ” 

And in spite of all James Simpson could say, in 
spite of all entreaties the Prophet persisted in accom- 
panying them, and the utmost they could do, was to 
post him behind a great jagged splinter of rock with 
orders not to fire until the enemy should discharge 
their muskets, while they themselves went down close 
to the water’s edge to observe the movements of the 
turning squadron, which, having to make a long de- 
tour, had not yet come into sight. 

Having completed these arrangements, and those for 
the frontal attack remaining the same as on the pre- 
vious night, Grif Rysland lay down with an easy mind, 
two muskets ready to his hand loaded with buck-shot, 
with which to sweep the path up the rock, should any 
assailant gain a footing upon it. 

Raith made his rounds below, full of responsibility 
and anxious thought, which more than anything else 
banishes fear in a young soldier. 

The cloud of bluish-grey mist subtly advancing over 
the moor, sinking now into the scooped-out hollows, 
anon making a leap for an outlying crag, hanging upon 
it a moment as if by spider filaments, and then swal- 
lowing it whole, at last banked itself up against the mu- 
ral breast of the barrier of Ben Aron. 

Deepening like water behind a dam it rose foot by 
foot, till it puffed chill and marsh-scented in the faces 
of the defenders. Then with a jerk it reared and 
poured over. They were in the midst of the grey 
smother, which streamed in coils and strands over their 
heads, and five minutes later had swallowed the moun- 
tain wholly, save only the highest peaks which stood 
clear in the blue air and pale silver sunshine of the 
autumn morning. 

“ Now, ” cried Lag, “ at them ! ” 

Then with a cheer and a rush, every part of the de- 
22 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


338 

fenders’ line of rock was assaulted at once. The boot- 
ed feet of horsemen could be heard slipping and scrap- 
ing on the stone as they painfully ascended. They 
cursed as they slid down again. They swore as they 
parted with the skin of their finger-tips on the keen- 
edged razory shale. Still not a gun was fired. Sure- 
ly the enemy were asleep indeed, for they made noise 
enough to wake the dead. Or, could it be, that they 
had escaped altogether. On the contrary — very much 
on the contrary — Grif s orders were not to fire till you. 
could see your enemy’s coat buttons — then to pick 
the third and aim for that. 

“ This plan,” he explained, “ saved a great deal of 
time in the German wars. We were troubled with no 
prisoners — burying parties being sufficient.” 

And so with Grif and Raith in the centre, imme- 
diately over the path, Gil Ellison and Grey of Chryston 
at the corners, and the others scattered along the line, 
the covenanters waited until, through a momentary 
thinning of the mist, the panting, straggling assault 
party appeared beneath. 

“ Let go ! ” shouted Grif, and with one of his buck- 
shot-laden pieces he raked the path, tumbling the 
awkward dismounted troopers about like so many rab- 
bits. Again he cleared a zigzag with his second gun, 
but even so there were too many on the narrow road- 
way. The mist had served the turn of the assailants 
well, and a couple of men would have leaped into the 
camp, falling over Grif, who lay immediately at the 
top, had not Raith seen the danger, and discharging his 
musket at the foremost, and clubbing the second with 
the butt, he tumbled them both back over the rock-face. 

“ Thank you for that, friend,” said Grif, as he re- 
loaded calmly, ** I will do as much for you when I get 
a whole skin upon me again. That thief Tyars has 
handicapped me cruelly for this sort of work. How 
go the others ? ” 


THE FIGHT IN THE MIST 


339 


It went well with the others. Two men likewise had 
succeeded in mounting at the western angle, but Gil El- 
lison and his comrade had used their weapons with such 
absolute obedience to orders that the third buttons of 
both were missing even at their funerals, having (it is 
believed) been carried into the wounds along with the 
bullets. 

Lag’s morning attack had failed on the front. But 
from the rear they still heard the sound of musketry. 
Grif ordered Raith, his eyes and ears as he called him, 
to slip around cautiously and see what was the progress 
of events' there. Accordingly he took his way over 
the shoulder of the hill. Behind and beneath him was 
the wreckage of Lag’s attack. Some of the dis- 
mounted troopers were lying still. Others were trying 
to carry away their comrades. Yet more were trail- 
ing themselves painfully along. At the eastern end 
he saw a dark mass in the water, which he supposed 
to be some one fallen from the cliff, shot in the act of 
trying to ascend. The main body of the fugitives had 
reached their horses, and he could see Lag’s figure 
and the flash of the steel as he thrashed the terrified 
men with the flat of the blade. Roddie used a riding 
whip, a weapon which had perhaps painful memories 
for his master. Nevertheless, between them, they 
succeeded in stopping the tide of flight. 

Raith passed the cave among the rocks. He could 
see his father sitting alone in the mouth, and he called 
to him to withdraw farther within. A chance bullet, 
he thought might possibly reach him. But his father, 
steeped in meditation, sat on, the thin chill mist stirring 
his white hair. 

But Raith was wholly unprepared for what he saw 
next. He could hear as he rounded the rugged angle 
of the copse-covered hill, a constant rattle of musketry, 
and occasionally, when the light wind which carried 
the mist permitted, a mighty voice that came in bursts 


340 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


and reverberations, as if doors were opened and shut 
between him and it. 

Ashe advanced the mist cleared. Indeed the mass 
of Ben Aron itself had divided and broken it up. Now 
it was flying away on either side, thin and faint as the 
northern streamers. A watery sun seemed to be try- 
ing to glimmer through a sky the colour of tin-plate. 

But close down by the water’s edge, erect on a pin- 
nacle of rock, like a statue on a pedestal, stood Peden 
the Prophet. He held a gun in his hand, by the mid- 
dle of the barrel. Sometimes he shook this at his ad- 
versaries on the opposite bank. These had dismounted 
and stood ranked upon the shore. They were firing 
constantly, loading at will and firing wildly like soldiers 
without an officer. They were also laughing loudly. 

Bullets whizzed and snapped about the prophet. 
But he seemed to regard them no more than so many 
booming dor-beetles at even-fall heard about the doors 
of his manse at the Muir Kirk of Glenluce. 

From where he stood Raith could hear the troopers 
betting who would first wing the old corbie, who would 
bring him down, and what each would get from the 
government out of the great price that was set upon 
his head. 

“ If he will only stand there and croak long enough,” 
said one, “ I swear I will have him. I saw that last 
bullet of mine make the fur fly ! ” 

And indeed at that moment a piece of Peden’s 
white hair, clipped by a flying ball, had fluttered down 
to the river, upon whose sombre breast it sailed slowly 
away, light as an autumn leaf. 

“ How to get to him,” thought Raith, ‘‘ he stands it 
well, but — this cannot go on. Even Lag’s troopers, 
bad shots as they are, must hit him some time ! ” 

So far as Raith could make out as he cautiously ap- 
proached, this was the burden of Mr. Peden’s maledic- 
tion. 


THE FIGHT IN THE MIST 


341 


“ Spear is not sharped,” he cried “ iron is not 
wrought that shall pierce me. Your lead flies harm- 
less. Hearken ye, devil’s brains, and cease your noise 
that I may speak. My time is not yet — yours is at 
hand. He shall hide me secretly in his pavilion. He 
is my shield and my buckler. No one of you shall 
come near me in life — in death what ye may do to me, 
it matters little to the poor bones and clay which 
have so long tethered old Sandy ! ” 

He paused a moment only to resume with fiercer 
accent. 

“ Hearken, ye drunken with the blood of the saints, 
go back and tell your master that he shall live long, 
but it shall be to yearn daily for the death which is de- 
nied to him. He shall suffer the pangs of the damned 
while yet upon the footstool. Hell shall devour him 
quick, while his feet tread the earth and his mouth 
drinks in the caller air. From him the books are 
shut and the seal set ! But for you — poor ignorant 
blaspheming wretches, thus saith the Lord — * Flee 
from before the great and stormy wind of my fury. 
I will break down your wall which ye have made, and 
this false King’s wall, that he hath daubed with un- 
tempered Popish mortar — yea, I will bring it to the 
ground’ ! ” 

But at that moment, in the midst of a yet more 
bitter storm of bullets, which still flew harmless by, 
Raith took careful aim and stretched one of the chief 
fusileers upon the opposite bank, an event which 
caused a sharp retreat of the rest toward their 
horses. 

Raith, without pausing to think, put out his hand 
and pulled the prophet into shelter. For even now 
the fugitives ever and anon stopped to fire back, and 
a bullet chipped white the boulder on which Mr. Pe- 
den was standing, buzzing between his feet and out 
again over Raith’ s head. Yet the Prophet regarded 


342 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


it no more than the fall of a bird’s dropping in his 
prison of the Bass. 

Instead he turned wrathfully on his preserver. 

“Ye have looked on the ark of God,” he cried, 
“ even when I was bearing it up before these Philis- 
tines of Ekron. But beware lest ye be smitten, as He 
smote the men of Bethshemish, even as He smote 
Uzzah the son of Abinadab, in the place which is 
called Perez-uzzah unto this day, because he put forth 
and touched the ark of God upon its new cart ! Yet, 
seeing that in ignorance ye did it, I will intercede the 
Lord for you. And indeed, to my own eye’s see- 
ing, your powder and ball worked more powerfully 
with yonder Ashdodites and Dagon-worshippers than 
all the words of Alexander Peden, whom they falsely 
call the Prophet. But I am an old man and leg- 
weary. Let us go hence. For the word that was 
given me to speak — I have spoken it. And lo ! it 
was as wind unto them ! ” 


CHAPTER XLV 


THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL. 

Victory was very well, but there were two, and 
those the leaders, who had within them sore and anx- 
ious hearts. Not so much for their position on Ben 
Aron. That for the present was impregnable. Lag 
had drawn off his bands, and now confined himself to 
a circle of outposts, from which he maintained a watch 
upon the hill and its defenders. 

Evidently he was awaiting reinforcements, and 
possible cannon such as had been used at Bothwell. 

But Grif Rysland and Raith felt that they could no 
longer wait with any patience. They had been inter- 
rupted in their quest, and they must at all risks and 
hazards find out what had happened to Ivie and the 
Ellisons, the three women who held their hearts. 

When Mr. Peden was approached for his opinion, 
he sat a long while gloomy and pulled at his long 
beard. 

“ Go,” he said, at length, “ ye may bring deliverance 
to such as count it precious. As for me, I have got- 
ten my marching orders for another world, but my 
heart is wae for these poor things here ! Also ye 
may lighten the hearts of the women — who, because 
of their weakness, have the spirit easily made heavy — 
though not for long — not for long ! ” 

So, all having been arranged to the mind of Grif 
Rysland upon the fortress of Ben Aron, the second 
place in the command was given to Gil Ellison, who 
seemed nothing elated or depressed thereby, but set- 


344 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


tied into his duty with his usual alert silence. Raith 
made a parcel of provender, and took counsel with 
Long-bodied John Baton how best he should gain the 
mainland. The fisher looked contemptuously at the 
black water, which doubtless seemed narrow enough 
to him, as do all inland waters to those whose eyes 
are accustomed to the sea. 

“ I suppose ye are not particular about crossing on 
horseback,” he said. “ From what I can see of the 
country yont there to the southard, I should prefer 
shank’s naigie mysel’ ! ” 

Raith told him that, so being he got over himself, 
he asked for no better. Then,” said John, “ ye must 
swim for it, and I will ferry over your clothes and the 
victuals.” 

Raith bade Grif farewell without many words. 

“ I need not tell you what to do,” said the latter, 
“ what thing you decide upon concerning Ivie, my 
daughter, I will stand to, knowing that you love her 
even as I ! As for the others, one is your mother 
and the other your sister. You do not need to be 
told what lies between you and any that may have 
wronged them in a hair’s breadth ? But if ye see Eu- 
phrain Ellison in the flesh, forget for a moment that 
she is your sister, and tell her that Grif Rsyland bade 
you say that he kept troth.” 

At the cave his father kissed him — for the first 
time that ever Raith remembered. 

“ It may be,” he said, “ that I have been mistaken — 
that all unwitting I have been an ill father to you !” 

As for Mr. Peden he only said, ‘‘ Laddie, ye have 
far to gang — a sore road and a doubtful ending. 
Your tongue will maybe carry you farther than your 
sword, little as ye think it now. But mind ye this, if 
(as I did never) ye would win favour with the great — 
and considering that which ye seek I blame you not — 
remember to fleech them and phrase them as ye 


THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL 345 

would your ain lass at a lover’s tryst ! But above all, 
young man, be not wise in your own conceits ! ” 

Raith swam the black clammy flood of the Aron 
Water with a cord about his waist and a bundle of 
reeds under his chin. Then Long-bodied John drew 
back the reeds with the cord while Raith paid out the 
other end. And so on this simple raft Raith’s clothes, 
his arms and provender were dealt out to him as he 
stood naked in the gloom of the peat bank by the 
shore, with the watch-fires of the enemy burning on 
every hill-ridge and wood edge far and near. John 
Paton pulled the cord and the rushes came back hand 
over hand. Then he whistled a seamew cry to signify 
that all was right, and the last link with the little 
defenced world of Ben Aron was cut for Raith El- 
lison. 

There was no difficulty for one so fleet of foot as 
Raith to escape the vigilance of the sentries. For, 
save in the immediate vicinity of Lag himself no 
strict guard was attempted, as indeed is mostly the 
way with irregular troops. As Grif Rysland had 
always said, * Were it not for lame men and old men, 
the blind men and the men possessed, I would risk 
taking to the hills in spite of Lag and all his horses. 
But we have too many to hamper us, who have not 
the right use of their limbs — and of these the most 
useless and decrepit is Grif Rysland himself ! ’ 
******* 

It was towards Lag’s own country that Raith now 
made his way, hiding and sleeping by day, travelling 
with immense speed all the night, so that in the 
morning he could do no more than nibble at his hard 
rye-bread and smoked ham, drink a draught of water, 
and so fling himself down with his sword in his hand 
and his pistols ready. 

It chanced that late one evening he had turned 
somewhat too carelessly into a broader way in a 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


346 

country of trees. A man who had been stretching 
himself at the roots of a great elm rose lazily and 
came towards him. 

You travel well-armed,” he said, “whither away 
stranger, an it be a fair question ? ” 

“ I go to the south upon my errands,” Raith an- 
swered his interlocutor, who seemed a great, hearty, 
not ill-humoured man, also armed with pistol and 
sword, but unlike Raith, carrying no musket. 

“ So it would seem, by the direction of your nose. 
Mine also points south,” laughed the man, “ but that 
is as good as to say ‘ Mind your own business.’ How- 
ever I have to travel all this night, and the country is 
not a very healthy one for lads like you and me. So 
for that I made bold to accost you ! ” 

“ For what do you take me then ? ” demanded Raith, 
amused in his turn. 

“ I will tell you,” answered the blonde-moustached 
giant, “ either a deserting dragoon, off to see his sweet- 
heart, or — on the same errand as myself — sent to 
bring up more Annandale rogues to fill the blanks in 
Sir Robert’s bees’-byke ! I am sure I have seen you 
about the Irongray. I am from Westerha’ mysel’ as 
ye may hear by the gollying of my Annandale tongue. 
Sir James ordered us out, and we had no more than 
arrived when Lag sent me south again to beg for fur- 
ther succour — saying that the Whigs had thrashed 
him soundly, but that if Sir James Johnstone would 
only stand by him for this once, he had such a haul of 
blue-bonnets under his hand as had not been caught 
together since Pentland ! ” 

“And how,” asked Raith, “did you come to recog- 
nize me for one of Lag’s men ? ” 

“ Man,” cried the other, winking cautiously through 
the gloom, “ is there not still the regimental number 
on that great musket that ye carry, and the King’s 
crown on your sword-basket ? And I can guess mair. 


THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL 


347 


Ye are the drill sergeant that Clavers lent Lag to 
learn his lads the manual. It’s a sair, sair life ye 
maun hae o’t ! And if so be that ye are desertin’, 
Robin Johnstone o’ Wamphray is no the lad to say a 
word ! But tell me, lad, is it a maitter o’ a lass ? 
Man, I’m real fond o’ them mysel’ — ^juist desperate, 
and up the Moffat water they caa’ me the Chiel o’ 
Wamphray ! ” 

“ It is indeed the matter of a lass,” said Raith, smil- 
ing, “ two of them, indeed ! ” 

Dear — a-me ! Do you say sae noo ? ” cried the 
Wamphray Chiel. But it tak’s some gumption to 
work them separate ! I hae tried it, but, mustard and 
ingins, it needs a cleverer falla than Robin ! They 
were aye sure to hear o’t sooner or later. And then. 
Lord, the scailin’ o’ a wasps’ nest was naething to 
them ! But heard ye o’ the Houston ploy the ither 
week ? There were lasses for ye — three o’ them, nae 
less ! ” 

There came a leap into Raith’s heart at the name. 
The dead Houston of Houston had been Grif Rys- 
land’s enemy, and if there was any vengeance in the 
carrying off of Ivie, it was sure to come from that 
quarter. 

I had not heard,” he said, “ who is this Houston ” 

I will tell you as we go our way,” chirruped the 
other, “two such honest fellows, and well-wishers to 
the gentry we serve, should e’en keep company ! ” 

“ My errand does not bear much company-keeping,” 
said Raith. 

“ What about the twa lasses ” said the other, all 
a-grin at his own wit. 

“Tell me about this Houston, then,” said Raith, 
“ and we can keep the breadth of the road between 
us.” Raith had his right hand ready in case of need, 
but the rough, simple nature of the Annandale man 
betrayed itself at every step. He was pleased beyond 


348 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

words to have some one to talk to through the night 
watches. 

‘‘ This Houston of Houston, it seems, was a wild 
lad in his day, and like oor Sir Jeems a great friend o’ 
the Laird o’ Lag ahint us yonder. And that ye ken 
is verra likely to stand him in good stead as a recom- 
mend where he is this day — and that’s nae ither place 
than in Muckle Hell ! For it is said that he spak’ some 
ill o’ a lass, the dochter o’ some puir officer o’ dragoons 
— but for a’ his poverty a linkin’ lad, wi’ a sword as 
lang as the day and the morn. So the twa o’ them 
focht ower aboot the Irongray. And — click — there 
was the lass’s faither’s sword through atween his ribs, 
as easy as if he been had a caff-bed. And that was the 
last o’ the Laird o’ Houston in this world ! ” 

“ But is that all ” demanded Raith, who as yet had 
heard nothing he did not know. 

‘‘ A’ — hear till him ! ” cried his neighbour, — “ man, 
it’s juist the beginnin’ o’ the tale. Weemen are unruly 
evils, as the guid buik says. They are at the bottom 
o’ a’ trouble, ever since that bit maitter o’ breakin’ the 
branches and eatin’ the bonny aipples. No that I care 
for aipples mysel’, but I suppose weemen are different 
— we are never sure frae ae minute to anither what 
they wad be after ! Being a married man mysel’, 
Lord, I should ken ! ” 

Raith demanded of Robin Johnstone of Wamphray 
with some heat and asperity the remainder of the story 
about the Lord o’ Houston, and found himself thus 
rebuked. 

Faith, man, but ye are a hasty blade. Ane wad 
think that the lassock was aiblins ane o’ your twa. Ha, 
Ha ! I had ye there. What’s the wondrous haste .? 
I like tellin’ tales and there’s the hale nicht afore us. 
I tell ye that there naething to gar the feet gang ower 
the road like a weel-telled tale, if it werena a weel- 
sung sang. Even whustlin’ is guid when ane has 


THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL 


349 

the lilt o’t. Can ye whustle ‘ The Rigs o’ Bar- 
ley ? ’ ” 

‘‘ Gang on — of coorse I’ll gang on. I am tellin’ ye 
a’ the time, am I no } It was this — or at ony rate 
it cam’ to this in the upshot, that the Laird o* Hous- 
ton — him that got the poke in the ribs wi’ the dra- 
gooner’s lang sword and needed nae mair — weel, he 
had fower brithers. And what did they do, but they 
made a league wi’ their neighbour Roarin’ Rob Grier, 
that is aye ripe for ony mischief, and, they say, wi’ 
anither greater man, that ye can caa’ the Yerl o’ 
Kingsberry gin ye like — and ye’ll no be tellin’ ony 
great lee, either — an they gaed to catch the man that 
did it, for the slayin’ o’ their brither. And what they 
wad hae dune if they had catched him, ye can think 
yoursel’. He wadna hae gotten muckle time to say 
his prayers. I’m thinkin’ ! ” 

“ But the bird was awa’, though the nest was warm. 
But what did the ill-contrived loons do, but they grip- 
pit the bonny lass that was the cause o’ a’ this. And 
alang wi’ her they took twa ithers, near as bonny as 
hersel’ — so they say — and aff they rode wi’ them to 
Houston ! Where they hae them safe under lock and 
key — naebody being the wiser, except twa or three like 
oursel’s, that are little likely to spoil sport. It’s deil’s 
truth, bein’ as I had it frae ane that rade a’ the way to 
the North, within sicht o’ the Bass Rock, and back 
again, and gat gowden guineas for his wark, whilk he 
hid, and for haudin’ his tongue, whilk he didna — or I 
wad hae kenned nocht o’ the ploy ! What think ye o’ 
that, na ” 

Robin of Wamphray laughed aloud and slapped 
his thigh at the jest. 

“ That’s what I caa’ something like a revenge,” he 
said, “ far better than putting swords through a man 
or blawin’ his brains oot ! ” 

“I think our ways separate here,” said Raith hur- 


350 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


riedly, “ I must keep more to the westward.” And 
with that he left his informant standing open-mouthed 
in the road gazing after him. In a minute, however, 
he had recovered him. 

“ Dolt that I am,” he said, “ I believe ane o’ the 
three was his lass after a’ — very likely the yin that 
belanged to the dragooner. He had the mark o’ the 
regiment on his gun. Aye, that will be it ! ” 

Now Robin Johnstone had a warm heart under his 
rude exterior, for he ran up to a hill-top and shouted 
after Raith, 

“Ye maun baud doon the glen to the left, and keep 
on till ye sight the tap o’ Kingsberry hill, that is shaped 
like a wave o’ the sea. Then Houston will be easy 
fand, in a hollow by the tide. But if the lass be your 
lass, I advise ye to get a horse under your hip and 
travel as fast as may be. There’s a man ower by, at 
the farm on the hill yonder, that will lend ye ane, if ye 
tell him that Robin Johnstone of Wamphray sent 
ye ! ” 

Raith shouted his thanks, and as far as he could see 
and a good deal farther than he could hear, Robin of 
Wamphray stood on his heathery knowe, and shouted 
advice as to the conduct of his affairs, presumed to be 
amorous and certainly vindictive. 

At the farm on the hill the people had gotten them 
to bed when Raith knocked, but a man cautiously 
pushed out the bell-mouth of a blunderbuss like a spy- 
glass to take a first view of the surroundings, and 
his eye glanced along the barrel at Raith. 

He in turn, being interrogated, stated his authority 
and proffered his request. The first was well received 
but the existence of any horse was denied, apparently 
however upon strong compulsion from within. For a 
voice could be heard dully as if muffled by bed-clothes, 
stating it as a fact that Robin Johnstone was no better 
than he should be, and that all his night-raking friends 


THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL 


351 


were likely to be no improvement upon himself. Fi- 
nally and especially he was to shut that window and 
come back to his warm bed. 

But Raith, mindful of the sugar on the tongue, 
which Peden the Prophet had recommended to him, 
told how his mother, his sister, and his sweetheart 
had all been carried off, and his urgent need of a horse 
to enable him to pursue them. Also the farmer had 
heard tell of his uncle and cousins, the Simpsons 
of Nether Barnton. 

And a decent well-doing man, if indeed he be an 
uncle of yours ! ” he said more inclined than ever to 
kindness. 

“ Hand doon your lantern, guidman, and let me see 
the lad’s face,” said his wife, “ that is a better certi- 
fication to a women’s e’e, than a barrelfu’ o’ relation- 
ships.” 

“ Tak’ off your bonnet, laddie, if it please ye ! 
John, keep awa’ that nesty gun ! ” 

The command came from above, and Raith obeyed 
— as it is to be supposed, so did John. 

Bairn, bairn,” cried a voice, “ ye are but a bairn 
— though like Davvid in the Scriptures, ye make me 
wae to look at ye — carryin’ a’ that great back-burdens 
o’ the weapons o’ deadly war. Bide there and stir na 
a foot, while I rax a wilicoat ower my head. Then 
come your ways ben and tell me aboot your mither, 
while John is oot catchin’ the powny wi’ a feed o’ 
corn ! ” 

While the good man was at his appointed work 
of bringing in the pony, from regions unknown, his , 
wife dressed herself, and also incidentally quieted a fret- 
ful child somewhere in the higher regions of the house 
by a summary process, worthy of being briefly record- 
ed. The child had been whingeing ” or crying for it 
knew not what, with a peculiarly long-drawn-out fret- 
fulness ever since Raith approached the dwelling. 


352 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


‘‘ What do ye want, ye bleatin’ blastie ? ” demanded 
the energetic mother. 

‘‘ I — w-a-a-ant — a-white-thing ! ” 

“ D’ ye think a brown thing wadna do as weel ? ” 
asked the mother, softly. 

The bairn considered a moment and thought it 
might. 

The “ brown thing” proving to be the pliable sole 
of a slipper, the application being singularly conscien- 
tious, and the bairn finding the “ brown thing ” to meet 
the case with unexpected completeness, the “ whinge- 
ing ” ceased on the instant. 

To Raith, waiting below, the mistress of the house 
entered, the “ brown thing ” on her foot. She was 
comely to see, arrayed only in bedgown and petticoat, 
and she was breathing a little hastily with honest 
toil. 

“ Aweel,” she cried, as she looked at her visitor 
smilingly, “ this is a bonny time o’ nicht to raise de- 
cent wives oot o’ their beds ! But if it’s to help ye, 
laddie, ye are welcome to ony beast aboot Simeon 
Fennick’s place. And it’s his wife Peg that says it, ye 
need speer nae ither leave.” 

It was with considerable difficulty that Raith drew 
himself away from this hospitable dwelling so unex- 
pectedly opened to him. He left behind him his 
musket, deciding at the last moment that he would 
ride the lighter without it, and besides he had re- 
gretted deeply for the last dozen miles that he had ever 
brought it from the cave of Ben Aron. 

Mistress Fennick, however, made him unload it care- 
fully before her eyes, under the threat that if he left 
siccan a deadly thing aboot her hoose, she would pour 
a pail of water down the muzzle.” Afterwards she 
fed him with oatcake, stayed him with flagons, com- 
forted him with apples, with other delights — and when 
he was on the doorstep ready to mount, she kissed his 


THE WAMPHRAY CHIEL 


353 


cheek with a hearty smack, calling after him that she 
hoped when the bairns grew up, her Watty would 
prove just such another ! Also that for the sake of his 
own mother Raith was to be sure to bring back the 
pony himself, when she would have more and better for 
him than the hasty guest’s cheer of a night. 

“And come decently in the daytime she added, 
“ when a body had some chance o’ making themsels 
decent and Sabbath-like, and no looking for a’ the world 
as if they had been harled through a thorn hedge 
feet-first !” 

So with a cordial promise to return and thank Simeon 
Finnick and his wife for his reception, Raith Ellison 
rode forth into the night, well mounted, well comforted, 
and lightened every way. 

He was now on his last stage. The mystery of the 
disappearance had to some extent been explained. 
There remained only to find the lost three. And 
Raith’ s heart grew full of anger and his will became 
like iron as he rode on towards the House of Houston to 
deliver his mother, and Euphrain, and Ivie — or if not, 
to do justice — for himself and for Grif Rysland upon 
the Houstons one and all. 

“ Grif slew one,” thought Raith setting his face hard, 
“ if there is aught to avenge — well there are four left 
for me ! ” 


23 


CHAPTER XLVI 


THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT. 

Night had fallen upon the worn towers and steep 
red-tiled roofs of the house of Houston-in-the-Hollow. 
The trees about the avenue gloomed and drooped in 
a dank autumnal fog, which, creeping up from the 
sea, remained long in the trough of the gorge, as if it 
had been a salt pool left behind by the retiring tide. 

It was a strange house, that of Houston, during 
these days. There rested a cloud upon the mind of 
the master like the evil spirit from the Lord that was 
upon Saul, when he sat apart with his javelin in his 
hand and none dared to speak to him. So Stephen 
Houston dwelt apart. He had sent away old Sue the 
very next day after the duel in the great dining room. 
Some of the other servants he had^ got rid of upon 
various pretexts. Some had fled from the fiercer un- 
reasonableness of his anger. His once sweet and 
melancholy nature seemed utterly changed. He grew 
violent and uncertain, when he was not utterly silent. 
And it was whispered that Sue Fairfoul, a known 
witch, if ever there was one, had sent a devil to tor- 
ment him, because he had turned her away from the 
house, where, in his father’s time she had walked a 
queen. 

At any rate there he sat, and it was the outcast Sue 
herself, who, stealing into the house by devious ways, 
cooked and set on the sideboard certain dishes, which 
as often as not, she would find untouched next morn- 
ing. 


THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT 355 


There was certainly something insane in the Hous- 
ton blood. Even so had his father’s end been, and 
the same reports of witchcraft had gone abroad con- 
cerning Sue. But that was long ago, and the supposed 
witch brought up the sons of the house with what 
in her lay of kindliness — though in the case of Tom, 
Hurst, and Archibald, she had certainly filled them 
with seven devils worse than those of their father. 
But Steven had always dwelt apart. At the age of 
five he had gone to his mother’s sister, who was mar- 
ried (so they said) to a great lord in England. Then, 
after he fell heir to his mother’s fortune, Stephen 
Houston had lived in London. 

Still on the whole his life had been solitary, and 
the disappointment of his hopes in the matter of 
I vie, following perhaps on the sight of his brother’s 
death in the quarry of Kersland, had unexpectedly 
brought out the family weakness. 

This may serve in these days for an explanation, 
but then in the 17th century — when witchcraft was 
rampant, where great black bees flew even from arch- 
bishops’ tobacco-boxes to change promptly into famil- 
iar spirits, there was but one explanation of his 
madness. Sue Fairfoul was a witch. Stephen Hous- 
ton had turned her out of house and home. She had 
vowed to be revenged. 

Very well then ! And indeed there was little more 
to be said. The facts bore out the suspicions. Sue’s 
stealthy visits were not set down to pity, or to the 
desire of providing food for a poor lonely man. With- 
out doubt she gave him hellebore, and wolf’s bane — or 
aconite possibly. Bloody-finger roots distilled in 
spiced wine was a known witches’ drink. But plain 
roast and boil — baked bread and oat cakes ? Well, 
there were fools in the world, but in all Lag’s country 
there was no one such a fool as to believe that. 

Furthermore — and it was a yet more strange thing — 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


356 

Stephen Houston sat at his empty table-end, pistol in 
hand or sword by his side. He did not say anything — 
only stared at the door with a fixed wistful hopefulness. 

People said that he was expecting some one — the 
devil, averred the country folk. I vie Rysland, thought 
My Lord, when he heard of it. 

But neither for angel of light nor for angel of dark- 
ness did Stephen Houston wait. He expected a man 
to come, and he was waiting for him. All the house 
in the hollow was gloomy about and above him — 
gloomy and grey and silent, with, to his poor troubled 
eyes, strange shapes lurking in corners and stealing 
athwart windows at which the winds wailed and the 
stars looked in. 

Meantime, beneath in the kitchen and store-places. 
Sue Fairfoul, the witch-wife went and came, silent and 
flitting as a ghost. In these days Houston-in-the- 
Hollow was verily a House of Witchcraft. 

******* 

Dusk had fallen when Raith went up the glen. He 
met, first, a ploughman who stared at him with pale 
frightened face when he asked the way to the House 
of Houston. The man’s lips moved in a mutter of 
prayer. If he had been a Catholic he would have 
crossed himself. As it was he looked Raith well over 
from head to foot, so that if he should turn out to be 
the devil going to seize his own, he might be able 
afterwards to claim some acquaintance in case of need. 

But Jock of the Plough-stilts did not speak. That 
might have given the Evil One some claim over his 
soul. He only pointed with his finger in the direction 
of the wizard-haunted mansion, hidden and drowned 
in the deep green shades of the pines, and with the 
cliffs standing up purple behind it. 

A boy caught marauding after nuts and crab-apples 
was of more use. His eye was taken by the glint of 
Raith’ s sword and pistols. He had a long way to go, 


THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT 357 

thought the boy, and he wished that this tall man 
would spare him one of these to go back with. There 
was no reason why he should, but perhaps if he spoke 
him fair he might lend him a weapon if only for the 
night. With a sword like that, or even a pistol, he 
would not be afraid of any bogle that ever walked — 
no, not of old Sue Fairfoul herself. 

So he explained to Raith that he would find the way 
to Houston at the second turning of the path. Here 
he must dive down into the dark well of tree-tops, 
where you always shivered, even on the hottest days. 
There was a murder supposed to have been done there 
— indeed there were murder-spots all about Houston. 
That was partly why he liked to come. 

But Raith had no time to hear about murders. 
Was there, he asked, much company at Houston ? 
The boy could not tell, but there were gay doings, and 
plenty of them, over at Kingsberry. My Lord and 
My Lady both were there. Whole oxen and sheep 
were killed, roasted, and eaten there every day. He 
had been up with his mother to pay the “ kane 
hens " to the housekeeper, who had said they 
were skinny old roosters and not worth the plucking. 
But then housekeepers always did say such things, 
and it never mattered that the boy could see. But as 
to the House of Houston, he did not know. He would 
not go near it at night, not for a thousand marks. 
Nobody went near it. It was haunted, and bad people 
came there. Strange voices were heard at night, and 
lights seen. But if the gentleman with the sword 
wanted to find out the road — he, Pate Binkie, would 
come — as far, that is, as the end of the loaning. The 
gentleman with the sword must be a rare and brave one. 
There was nobody in the village who would go there 
in broad daylight — except Sue Fairfoul, and of course, 
being a witch, she would, in a manner, be at home in 
a haunted house ! 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


358 

Such was Pate Binkie’s report, and accordingly at 
the close of day, when the glen was looking its eeriest, 
the boy left Raith at the tail-end of the long avenue of 
Houston, with a penny in his pocket for his trouble, 
and the confidence in his heart that he had seen the 
bravest man in the whole world. 

There did not seem to be any great cause for fear, 
as Raith turned the comer which shut out the view of 
the sea, and the bats began to flit and dip about the 
tree tops. There was only a great hush upon every- 
thing — a silence that was at first grateful, but after- 
wards grew oppressive even to Raith. He had fancied, 
and feared, the stormy ribaldry which was character- 
istic of Lag and his crew when in their cups. Then 
they called each other Beelzebub and Baran, Apollyon 
and Sathanas, according to their supposed characters. 

But here was nothing — worse than nothing — a 
brooding silence which grew ever deeper and stiller 
as he advanced. Could all be over, and (his heart 
stood still !) Ivie, Euphrain, Marjory Simpson — all 
dead and in their graves ? 

The thought stopped him, trembling, and for the 
first time — he was afraid. The night shut down. 
The gorge closed in above. The trees, gloomy, tall, 
and desolate, cast ever a deeper shadow. Raith walked 
noiseless upon elastic pine needles, the path twining 
and twisting with the intricacies of the gorge. Before 
him the gloom darkened, presently growing black and 
overcast as if under the shadow of a mounting thunder- 
cloud. Partly it was the tall wooded cliff which 
closed the valley, and partly the real gloom of a storm 
that was coming up from the west. Raith might have 
noticed this had he not been too preoccupied, for it had 
been presaged by the red sunset and a certain pearl- 
ing bubble on the sea like sparkling wine just poured 
into the cup. 

Suddenly, without warning or expectation, Raith 


THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT 359 

found himself on the very steps of the mansion. The 
towers of Houston-in-the- Hollow rose above him, a 
slaty-grey against the black of the night and the dense 
velvet of the overhanging cliff. Raith stumbled, and 
his sword jangled on the worn stones. But no sound 
followed from within. Not a dog barked in the court- 
yard. He pushed forward, the thought of I vie strong 
upon him — of I vie and his mother — but of I vie 
first. 

To his unmeasured surprise the great main door 
stood open wide as a castle gateway, yawning black 
like a cavern. From above, as he stood wondering, 
came the skarrow of lightning — a broad regularly- 
leaping flame, without noise, which illumined for a mo- 
ment the hall at the entrance of which he stood. Raith 
could see the straight-backed chairs and armour ranged 
about, the deer heads and the grinning foxes above the 
doors — but no sign of human being. The sense of 
mystery grew upon him. They — those three dear to 
him — had been drawn to this trap. He knew it. Per- 
haps they had been murdered. Perhaps God had sent 
him to find their bodies — and the anger within him 
grew fiercer. Yes, earth and hell might league their 
powers, but he would go through with it in spite of 
them all. He had not come so far to turn back. And 
with the long clean wheep of steel leaving steel, he 
unsheathed his sword and began to ascend the wide 
staircase of Houston, 

No rat scurried. Not a mouse cheeped. Almost 
he wished for the footsteps of men with whom he 
could fight for his life — for Ivie’s life — for Ivie’s hon- 
our — or to avenge her if she were dead. But no — 
no such good luck — he must go forward in this un- 
canny silence. 

Now, he was at the first landing. The stair con- 
tinued, mounting higher, with a long sweeping curve. 
He could see it clearly enough, because at regular 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


360 

intervals, the lightning of summer shook (as it were) 
a sheet-white banner above the house. 

Corridors went right and left. Doors were ranged 
on either hand, open, nerve-shaking, silent also. Be- 
fore him, swaying a little in the wind which blew in 
at the open archway beneath, a presage of the storm, 
was a wide door. Through it, as the lightning pulsed, 
he could see the long narrow strip of a window — clean 
of hangings, of curtains, of anything. 

Raith pushed with his left hand and at the same 
moment lowered the point of his sword. Nothing 
moved. He entered, and in a moment, as if moved 
by a spring like a wolf-trap, something gripped his 
feet. He was flung back. The door clapped too be- 
hind him with an appalling noise. He felt himself 
enveloped, taken, triced against the door. His sword 
was jerked from his hand. He felt a rope which 
tightened about his neck. Beneath, a woman was fix- 
ing some ligature about his feet. He could see her 
and the great bare window mounting up to the ceiling 
as often as that white silent banner of flame fluttered 
without. 

He noted also a long table that ran the length of 
the room, terminating nearly opposite the door to 
which he had been fastened. When the next flash 
came, Raith saw the figure of a man seated there — 
a figure which, he was certain, had not been there a 
minute before, when he had seen the old woman 
binding his feet. 

“ Ah,” said a voice, “ behold at last — the chosen — 
the preferred — the gay soldier — Master Raith Ellison, 
sometime commander of the Bass in the absence of its 
governor, now by the last advices from Edinburgh, be- 
come a rebel, whom no man need mourn. Well, as 
you see, we have been expecting you for some time. 
Master Raith Ellison ! Light the candles. Sue. We 
keep a poor forlorn house, and send out no invitations, 


THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT 361 

but since this gay soldier has seen fit to visit us, we 
must do our best to entertain him.” 

Slowly one candle and then another was lighted by 
old Sue, and Raith was enabled to see his surround- 
ings more at leisure. The man who had spoken sat 
in his chair by the table-head. He leaned carelessly 
back and played with one of Raith’s own pistols rais- 
ing the dog and snapping it. 

This is not primed. Sir Soldier,” he said looking 
up reproachfully at Raith, ** what abominable careless- 
ness in a man of war. Are you a marksman. Master 
Raith ? For I am!' 

And then Raith had one of the greatest surprises 
of his life. For this gentle, melancholy-looking young 
man picked up a huge horse-pistol from the table, and 
without taking aim fired it carelessly straight at him. 
Raith felt what seemed to be a sharp pinch between 
the finger and thumb of his right hand, where it was 
fastened with a band to the door. He could feel the 
blood running down and trickling drop by drop from 
his thumb. 

“ Your own fault,” said the strange young man, 
shaking his head at him with an air of reproof, “ you 
must spread your fingers wider apart. It really was 
entirely your own fault. See, we will try it on the 
other hand ! ” 

He picked another pistol from the table, and fired 
with as little aim as before. Raith felt the wind of 
the bullet and the jar of the wood as it entered. 

“ Now,” said the young man, “ move your thumb 
slightly and you will feel that it has really hit the mark. 
Is it not a pretty trick } But (he went on) truly I 
have had a deal of practice whilst I have been waiting 
here for you.” 

And Stephen Houston waved his hand about the 
room. Raith’s eyes, fascinated, followed the gesture, 
and he was astonished to see everywhere . ornaments 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


362 

smashed, abo^^e the mantel-piece a family portrait with 
the eyes represented by black holes, a row of dents in 
the shape of a cross driven in a great silver tankard, 
the black oak of the walls perforated in curious pat- 
terns, the ceilings marked with common catchwords 
and phrases, mostly in Latin — Atra Cura Sedet 
Post — ” and then, done with monstrous ability, the 
figure of a horseman at full gallop. 

Raith knew instinctively that this must be one of 
the Houstons, and that he had fallen into a snare. 
But he did not understand at once that the man be- 
fore him was mad, that he had carried out his plans 
alone, or at most with only the assistance of one old 
woman. 

Under the punctured horseman another inscription 
had been begun, but after completion it had been de- 
faced with bullets wilfully fired, and all that stood out 
clear was one word done in closely placed shots and in 
large capitals : 

IVIE.’' 

“ I see,” remarked Stephen Houston, in his curiously 
easy and conversational tone, “ you are looking at my 
horseman. Your professional eye, of course, detects 
that he wears his sword on the wrong side. But — I 
am only a beginner. We shall do better yet, now that 
you are come.” 

He rang a little hand-bell placed on the table beside 
him. 

“ Swing the door about,” he sard, “ and I will prove 
to this gentleman that I am something of a marksman 
with the small arm, though, as there is a good deal of 
wood to penetrate, I must use the largest pistols with 
which, as I need not tell you, less accuracy is possible. 
But first, stand off a moment. Sue, and give me a 
candle. It is no such easy task, this — to make a pic- 
ture of a handson^e dragoon to please the eye of his 


THE HOUSE OF WITCHCRAFT 363 

lady. She shall come and see it. Oh yes, I will war- 
rant you of that. I will mark it through and through 
without drawing blood — the head and limbs complete, a 
bullet between each finger. And then — to make every- 
thing perfect, just one little hole through the heart. 
After that. Sue, we will fetch her here, the pretty 
Ivie ! We will lay the table as for a banquet ! My 
Lord, too, and My Lady, who are so kind, so kind ! 
We will invite them. They have most pressingly in- 
vited me ! I will render them their courtesy again. 
Then I will show them the picture on the door, drawn 
to the life. The Gallant Dragoon, it shall be named. 
And they will say — ‘ Ah,’ ’tis spoiled. Your hand 
has slipped, Stephen. There is one little hole in the 
middle of the body high up — a mistake, like the sword 
on the wrong side of the cavalier — how came that 
there ? ” 

‘‘ And then. Sue, I will turn the door on its hinges, 
and show them the Original. And then they will see 
that the little hole driven with the silver button^ is right 
through his heart. You shall lay your best spell upon 
that button. Sue, and it will pierce the heart of him 
that pierced me ! There, Sue, now look well to the pis- 
tols. I will turn the door, and begin my painting. ” 

Raith felt the great door turn on its hinges — he upon 
it as if crucified. It had been made to fold back into 
a recess, so that when open it would appear to be 
merely part of the black wainscotting of the hall. 
Presently he found himself in darkness, with his knees 
and breast pressing against the back of the recess. 

“ Now then. Sue, the pistols — the largest pistols, 
for the bullet must go clean through. What a bless- 
ing the panels were made thin on purpose to match 
the wainscotting ! 

The voice came now from behind him, outside the 
door. A shot rang out. It penetrated the light pan- 
elling and clipped Raith’ s hair. 


3^4 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ Not so good, Sue,” said the voice, that went too 
near. We will do the outline of the body first, good 
Sue, and leave the head, which is the master-piece of 
man, till we have gotten our hand in.” 

Shot after shot rang out. The wood splintered and 
closed after the bullets. His garments were torn and 
pinched. 

But after a while, shut in his narrow prison, and 
with the bullets of the madman cleaving the wood at 
intervals of a few seconds, his feet fast in the wolf- 
trap, a rope tight about his neck, Raith swooned away. 


CHAPTER XLVII 


** OUT OF THE DEPTHS I CRIED 

In the great wide house of Kingsberry and in the 
widest and best chamber thereof, Ivie Rysland could 
not compass sleep. It was a night heavy with the 
threat of thunder-weather. She had left the company 
and come up early, undressed, and now, in my Lady’s 
French batiste^ lay like a snowy cloud on the great 
curtained four-poster, to which she had mounted by 
steps. Through the windows she watched the puls- 
ing of the lightning over the sea. She counted twenty- 
five very slowly and there was another flash. That, 
as near as might be, made ten seconds. But the 
flashes were coming faster now. 

There was no reason for her discomfort that she 
knew of. My lady, indeed, had just heard from her 
husband that all trace of the fugitives from the Bass 
had been lost. 

Neither Grif, her father, nor Raith — her — friend, 
had been heard of. Yet in spite of the good news a 
great uneasiness weighed down the girl’s heart. She 
started up, set herself to dress rapidly, threw a cloak 
about her shoulders, and went up to the high balcony 
called the King’s Walk. It was a favourite prome- 
nade of hers, and My Lord, who spoiled her in every- 
thing, had ordered that a key should be given her to 
be used whenever she was so minded. 

The King’s Walk lay high up on the leads of 
Kingsberry, and by day overlooked many a league of 
sea and many an acre of land. She could even see 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


366 

the topmost pinnacles of Houston hidden deep in its 
glen, rising like rocky islets from a green sea. 

“ There — there,” — she thought, — there lies the 
danger ! ” 

As when one awakes in the dawn with a great 
trouble heavy on the heart, but cannot disentangle it 
for a moment — so Ivie, on the high terrace of Kings- 
berry knew for the first time that she was afraid be- 
cause of Something — Someone — over at that strange 
house in the hollow. 

She did not argue about it. She knew. She felt, 
Raith would come and seek her. Then they would 
trap him. They would kill him — perhaps torture 
him. And she heard — well, it was impossible even 
though the wind blew lightly that she could hear — 
let us say rather that she thought she heard — the 
sound of gun-shots very faint in the direction of 
Houston. 

Unable to contain herself a moment longer she 
rushed downstairs to My Lady’s apartments and 
knocked — first gently and then more loudly, for Meg 
of Rothesay, Countess Liddesdale, was a sound sleeper. 

“ Ah, you,” said my lady, a moment — there ! My 
bairn, but you are cold and all of a tremble ! Come 
in beside me. Why, you are dressed. What is the 
matter ? ” 

Then, bursting into an agony of tears Ivie told the 
Countess all. Now there was little of fear about Rob- 
ert, Duke of Rothesay’s daughter — none of man, 
none of the de\fil, and they said, only by fits and 
starts, even of God. 

“ Bide, bairn,” she said immediately, “ I will go with 
you. We will see for ourselves, you and 1. No, we 
will say nothing to My Lord. What need ! He 
would only spoil sport ! I will only leave a note tell- 
ing him where to seek us, if we are not back for 
breakfast. Feared ? What for should I be feared — 


‘*OUT OF THE DEPTHS I CRIED” 367 


of a blear-eyed old wife that should have been at the 
cart-tail years syne ? My father would have had the 
hangman’s whip scoring her back — my grandfather 
would have drowned her in a well like a blind puppy. 
And as for poor Steevie — have I not skelpit him mony 
a time for stealin’ berries out o’ the Kingsberry gardens ? 
And what for then should I, Margaret of Rothesay, 
be afraid o’ wee Steevie Houston, daft or wise, guid or 
ill — me that could grip three Steevies’ in my left hand 
and shake them till their very banes played castanets ! ” 

Nevertheless she took a pistol in her own girdle 
and put a sword in Ivie’s hand — ' the very blade My 
Lord gied ye to make a hole in Roarin ’ Rob,’ ex- 
plained the countess, as they went their way. There 
was a short cut to Houston-in-the-Hollow down the 
side of the glade, which was well known to the Count- 
ess, and the whole distance being but half a mile, it 
was not long before they were at the great open arch- 
way at the top of the steps. 

Shot after shot within — each followed by loud laugh- 
ter — that is what the two women heard. What they 
saw was only a glimmer of candle-light from the stair- 
case, at the top of which the door of the dining-room 
stood wide open, back to the wall, as My Lady had 
seen it on great occasions in the old laird’s time. 

There’s some devil’s work going forward there,” 
whispered my lady, standing up at Ivie’s side tall as 
any grenadier of the guard, “ ready and quiet, lass ! 
Up we go ! ” 

And they mounted stealthily, Ivie’s hand stealing 
out to be sure that her stronger companion was beside 
her. It was her one symptom of fear. 

‘‘Load the pistols quicker, Sue,” cried a voice, 
“and have the one with the silver button ready — 
you know the one for that — Tom’s big long-barrelled 
musket that he had carried to the Whig-hunting. Is 
it ready, Sue.!^ ” 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


368 

The two women stood in the wide doorway, gazing. 
Stephen Houston, his long black hair falling all about 
his face, from which ever and anon he twisted it ner- 
vously back, sat firing horse-pistol after horse-pistol at 
some part of the room they could not see. He did 
not observe them at first, as my lady and I vie stood 
stiff with amazement in the open space of the landing. 
But Sue Fairfoul did, and becked to them, and mocked 
behind her master’s back, even when she was handing 
him the loaded pistols. 

“ There wants little now,” he cried, ** there stands 
Raith Ellison, the handsome dragoon, done to the life 
— nothing wanting but the little red hole through the 
heart ! And then — tomorrow — we shall have a visit 
from Mistress I vie, and her kind friend My Lady ! ” 

** Ah ! ” he cried, suddenly catching sight of the two 
women in the mirror. He rose, brought his palm 
quickly to his brow as if to be sure it was no vision. 
And then reaching out his hand he seized a pistol and 
rushed towards the door. 

** Better still,” he cried, she shall see me do it.” 

And before I vie could move from her place he turned 
the door on its hinges, and revealed Raith Ellison to 
all appearance dead. I vie uttered a great cry and 
rushed forward. The madman raised his pistol to 
Raith’s breast, but, crouching low by the table, and 
resting an elbow on the edge, old Sue Fairfoul, the 
witchwife, poised his brother Tom’s great Whig-hunt- 
ing piece and pointed it at Stephen Houston. 

“ The silver bullet for the man that turned me out 
of hoose and hame — mine for thirty years ! ” she cried, 
and as she spoke she fired. The madman fell forward, 
his head striking the floor at Raith Ellison’s feet, and 
with a wild eldritch cry Sue rushed down the dark 
stairs out at the door, and the dark of the night swal- 
lowed her up. 

The two women were shaken. Instinctively they 



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*^OUT OF THE DEPTHS I CRIED” 369 


clung the one to the other, but, strangely enough, in 
that moment of terror, standing between the dead and 
the dying, it was Ivie regained her calm the more 
quickly. Rapidly she saw how Raith had been drawn 
into a trap, and with the sharp edge of her dagger she 
cut the ropes which bound him. The tall countess 
received the young man in her arms and bore him to 
the table as if he had been an infant. 

His clothes were cut to ribbons. Blood flowed from 
a slight wound in his hand but otherwise he was un- 
hurt. The mad marksman had been as good as his 
word. According to promise he had outlined Raith’ s 
shape on the door in bullet -holes, but the finishing 
touch of the silver button through the heart had been 
directed elsewhere. 

“ He will come to,” muttered My Lady, as Raith 
breathed with a heavy lift of the chest, half checked 
in the middle, “ but the sooner we get all this sorted 
out, with the least talk about it, the better. Come 
your ways, lass, we will send My Lord. This is his 
work ! ” 

But Ivie cried out in amazement. 

“ Leave him ! ” she cried, “ when they might return. 
There may be more of them. That terrible woman 
might come back ! Think how she mopped and 
mowed at us. I believe she is mad also ! ” 

“ Well,” said My Lady, “ then I see not what there 
is for it but to wait till breakfast time, when My Lord 
will get his letter. But then all the world will know, 
and your lad there stand in more danger from the law 
than he did a moment since from the bullets of poor 
Steevie’s horse-pistols.” 

“ Do you go, if you will. My Lady — I will stay and 
keep watch } ” said Ivie. 

“ Lass, I would go fast enough — but to leave you 
here, I dare not — with that dead man and your lad 
not come to himself ! You would lose your wits ! ” 

24 


370 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ I shall not be afraid,” I vie answered, “ there are 
arms. I have a sword, and we have found Raith ! ” 

So she waited, having as usual, her way. 

Meg of Rothesay was, as this history has said, with- 
out fear, but her nerves were certainly tried that night. 
She had to pass down the stairs by which Steevie’s 
murderess had fled — the woman whom all the world 
took to be a witch. But the countess marched bravely 
on, a pistol in hand, though as she said after, she 
would not deny “ hummerin’ ower a prayer or twa that 
could do no harm— at ony rate ! ” But even this she 
ceased so soon as she found herself out on the open 
face of the moor. 

Then I\de by the light of the dying candles con- 
tinued to stand between the dead and the living, be- 
tween Stephen Houston and Raith Ellison, both of 
whom had loved her and told her so. Raith was breath- 
ing quietly now, but he had not yet opened his eyes. 
Ivie went to the door and closed it. The yawning 
black throat of the staircase annoyed her, but as she 
swung the door to she saw the great pulleys above 
and the shelf below on which the wolf-trap had been 
placed to snap, as Raith pushed against it. Then she 
came back and resumed her watch. Presently one of 
the candles guttered out, and the lightning came 
stronger, glittering on the clear steel of her sword. 

Stephen Houston had never moved since he had fal- 
len, but now, for the first time, a flood of terror came 
over Ivie. 

“ What if he did come alive } ” 

She turned and regarded the dark mass, the hands 
stretched out, one of them still holding the harmless 
pistol, which had gone off as he had fallen. The hand 
outstretched on the floor seemed to move and clutch. 

“ Raith — ” she cried, suddenly, “ Raith, wake — wake 
— I want you — I need you, Raith I shall go mad else ! ” 


^‘OUT OF THE DEPTHS I CRIED" 371 


Raith Ellison was deep and far in the great blue 
ocean in which spirits swim when they are disengaged 
from the body to which for a time they adhere. Per- 
haps death is like that. At least it is the likest thing 
to death which it is permitted to the sons of men to 
experience and tell of afterwards. Raith flew or 
swam in this blue immeasurable coolness. He had 
only to incline his soul and lo ! he described a great 
curve like a swooping swallow. Only he was not go- 
ing anywhere. There was nowhere to go. He had 
no trammels of flesh, nor any earthly entanglement. 
He did not think. He was not Raith Ellison any 
more. He only existed, swam in the pale blue cool- 
ness, and was happy. 

It was then that he heard the voice of Ivie — a bird 
voice, speaking clearly, but oh, from what an infinite dis- 
tance ! Then it was that he found out that his soul was 
flat like a kite (and perhaps like the stellar universe). 
For he had simply to incline it upwards and lo ! he 
felt himself rising exhilaratingly through the blue stuff 
which was all about him. Faster and faster he went 
till there was a roaring in his ears. Sharp pains came 
here and there. His body, which he had quite left be- 
hind, anchored him down again. He opened his eyes, 
and there stood Ivie. 

She was pale. She leaned one hand on his breast 
— his bare breast, and was feeling with timid fingers 
for the beating of his heart — and, could it be possible 
— yes, there was a sword in her right hand. 

Slowly it all came back to him — the dark house — 
the trap, the madman, the final agony. He lifted his 
head, prepared to find Stephen Houston smiling death 
from implacable lips, still at the table-end with his pis- 
tols. But the pistols had been cleared away into a 
corner. He lay on the table himself, and on the floor, 
near the door to which he had been fastened — lay a 
dull and formless Somewhat — the figure of a man 


372 THE CHERRY RIBBAND 

fallen as men fall when they are stricken suddenly 
dead. 

“He did not kill me, then ? ” he murmured as his 
first word. It did not seem in the least strange that 
I vie should be with him. Of course she would be 
there. He had known it before he had opened his 
eyes — oh, ages and ages before ! That was what had 
made his heart beat at the first, after it had stopped, 
and it was her voice that had turned the course of his 
soul earthward again out of the vast blue ocean of 
crystal in which he had been swimming. 

Then Ivie put her head down close to his, and spoke. 

“ Raith, I knew that you would come here and try 
to find me, so I came to you. But keep still — do not 
try to move — all will be well. My Lady will be back 
presently with assistance.” 

“ My Lady ? ” queried Raith, trying feebly to piece 
things together. He was still partially dreaming, and 
could feel the long pulsing sweep through that glorious 
cerulean, where one did not need to breathe, but only 
to exist. 

“ Yes,” said Ivie, touching his hair, “do not trouble 
to think at all. It is My Lady the Countess of Lid- 
desdale ! She has gone for her husband ! ” 

Raith instantly sat erect. His head swam as his 
feet touched the ground, and he tried to steady himself, 
rocking with his hand on the table. 

“ I must get away,” he cried, “they would take me 
— and I might tell if — if they tortured me — I might 
tell where your father is — wy father, Gil, and all the 
prisoners.” 

“ Do not be afraid,” whispered Ivie, “ only wait. My 
Lord will ask you nothing that you may not safely tell 
him. Also he wishes to see my father — wishes it 
greatly. He has a mission for him. And for the oth- 
ers, he has promised my Lady — ” 

“ What > ” 


“OUT OF THE DEPTHS I CRIED 373 


“ That they shall go free. Hush — here they come. 
If it be any others — ” She did not continue the sen- 
tence, but thrusting a pistol into his hand, the two of 
them waited as the sounds beneath grew nearer. 

“ I vie — I vie — I am here — have I been long ? ” 

It was the Countess, tall as any man and looking 
taller in her rough soldier s coat and huge plumed 
hat feathered like that of a life-guardsman. 

“ My husband .? ” she answered a look of Ivie’s, “ he 
is below with two or three men whom he can trust. But 
if this young man will go into another chamber and 
clothe himself in this suit which I brought for him, it 
will save much trouble. The matter will be less likely 
to be talked about. Then if he is able, he will ride 
home with us to Kingsberry, and tell us all about it to- 
morrow morning. It will do my husband, who is the 
greatest gossip in the world, much good to have to wait 
till then. He will make fifty ‘ supposings ’ when he 
finds that wolf-trap.” 

Raith clad himself with difficulty, stopping at every 
minute to lean against the cold wall of the little ante- 
chamber, through the open window of which the night 
air brought in the smell of burning torches. 

Already they were carrying out Stephen Houston 
to his burial, while doubtless his disturbed spirit was 
planning its flight through some more remote region of 
the blue coolness, the confines of which Raith had 
that night touched. 

In these wise days there are few who give even a 
thought to witchcraft. But it was the universal be- 
lief at the time of these chronicles, as it was that of 
the men who penned the Bible narratives. But cer- 
tain it is that whether old Sue Fairfoul was a witch or 
not, she vanished utterly from the earth from that 
moment, though actively searched for throughout 
every shire in Scotland, as all may see who choose to 
consult the register of the Acts of Privy Council. 


374 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Ivie, in a happy triumph, brought the boy {/ter boy ! ) 
home to his mother. And Marjory Simpson clasped 
Raith in her arms and listened to the tale of the 
wondrous rescue and the flight, her pale face paling 
yet more as she heard how Raith had left them still 
at bay on the rocky ridges of Ben Aron. The few 
against the many,” as she said, ‘‘but the Lord is on 
their side.” 

“ And we have a great advantage in position also,” 
added Raith simply, and meaning no irreverence. 

His mother looked at him a moment, and then said 
to Ivie, “ You have a work of grace yet to do there. 
The old Adam is still strong in the boy .? ” 

“ And this Eve stood most of tonight with a sword 
in her hand,” said Ivie “and oh, but she was fright- 
ened. I had to call out to you, Raith.” 

“ I heard you and I came ! ” he answered. But 
neither he nor she knew from how far. 

After a little while, Raith drew Euphrain aside into 
one of the window embrasures, and spoke in her ear. 
“ I promised to give you a message,” he said. “ You 
will know what it means. I do not. Captain Grif 
Rysland bade me tell you that he kept troth ! ” 

At which Euphrain flushed suddenly redder than 
the sunrise which was coming up over the tree tops 
to the east. 

“ I keep it too,” she said, under her breath. 

Then came My Lord in with my Lady, who looked 
not a whit the worse for her adventure. 

“ Sir,” he said, “ you have had such a night as few 
men live through. But for all that — taking my wife’s 
word for it, I cannot call you other than a singularly 
fortunate young man ! ” 

And so thought Raith himself, except only when 
he remembered Lag’s leaguer of the Hill of Aron, 
and the comrades and friends who held the trenches 
and waited for him to return. 


CHAPTER XLVIII 


LONG-BODIED JOHN — MARTYR 

“ The Hill of Bashan — an high hill,” said Mr. Peden 
on the Sabbath morning as the garrison of Ben Aron 
drew together — all, that is, saving the necessary look- 
out men — for the exercise of worship which was never 
omitted in any circumstances. It was a week now 
since Raith had been ferried across the black water of 
Aron, and every man among them was visibly thinner, 
and there was a more anxious expression on the face 
of the commander-in-chief. But though the provisions 
ever dwindled and Raith delayed the signs of his com- 
ing, the worship of God must not be forgotten even 
for a day. 

“ The time of some of us upon the earth is not long 
— of whom I myself am one ! ” said Peden the Prophet, 
casting his hoary locks behind him like a fleece, and 
this is my Mount Pisgah from which it is permitted 
to me to view the land. Even as Ritchie said at the 
Moss of Ayr, so say I now. ‘ God spare the green 
and take the ripe ! ’ And indeed, as is ever the way 
when it comes to taking up of offensive arms, I see 
more of the green than the ripe among you. Never- 
theless, I judge you not, God spare you all, sayeth 
Alexander Peden.” 

“ But,” (he continued), “ there is one that I re- 
mark not among you — even Peter Pat on } What 
of him, who is wont to carry the bag. Is he also a 
Judas .? ” 

“ I have not seen my uncle since yestreen at the 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


376 

gloaming — but I’ll warrant him he is no Judas ! ” said 
Long-bodied John stoutly. 

“ A bruised reed then, set in a soil of self and siller,” 
commented Peden, ** yet in his time permitted to be 
an instrument of the will of the Almighty.” 

Then he read to them one of the warrior psalms — 
the seventeenth by number : 

“ me as the apple of thine eye^ hide me tinder 
the shadow of thy wingSy from the wicked that op- 
press mcy from my deadly enemies that compass me 
about r 

And he bore on the same subject in his prayer, 
likening the Laird of Lag to a lion greedy for its prey, 
and, as it were, a young lion lurking in secret places ! ” 

And from far off on the long peninsula of whin and 
peat on which the tents and shelters of Lag’s force 
were set out like a child’s toys, the smoke of the morn- 
ing breakfast-fires gave meaning to the allegory. 
Day by day their assailants had grown more numerous, 
as Westerhall and Morton sent on their bands of An- 
nandale and Nithsdale men, and more and more runa- 
gates filtered up from Lag’s own Galloway country. 
On the very day of Raith’s departure indeed, a large 
body had arrived with the three Houston brothers in 
command, glad to be quit of the house and lands, 
rather than live in fear of the increasing madness of 
their elder brother. 

* * if: * if: if: if: 

“Soon, soon shall Alexander Peden pass away,” 
cried the old preacher, “ even now his place knoweth 
him not. Other times shall arrive — a younger day. 
Send, Lord, that it be a better. Yet let not the old day 
be quite forgot. Let not the man of the world, whose 
portion is in this life, guide wholly the kirk and folk 
of God. Teach us whom thou lettest live, to walk 
modestly by the side of the great mystery. Soon, 
very soon, there shall be naught hid from Sandy Peden. 


LONG-BODIED JOHN— MARTYR 377 

But teach these poor ones here Thy secret, which is 
with them that fear Thee.” 

He ended an utterance less prophetic than usual by 
lifting up both hands in the Scottish attitude of bene- 
diction. Ere he had dropped them again there came 
from over the hill a sharp rattle of musketry, and 
Grif sprang for his sword and musket. Then ascend- 
ing the hill he made the best speed that was possible 
to him, towards the defence of the threatened 
point. 

Lads, to your posts, every man of you,” he cried 
back over his shoulder, “ for ye may be attacked any 
moment. Where is John Baton .? ” 

But John Baton of the Long Body was not to be 
found. He had vanished as soon as Beden had put 
the question concerning his uncle. There was a sus- 
picion in his own heart. He had noticed for some 
days that there was something fermenting in the mind 
of Brayerful Beter, and he knew the signs of the 
uncle’s temper better than any. Now he bitterly re- 
proached himself. 

He is a sailor and a fisher,” thought the nephew, 
as he ran low among the rocks, as if he had been 
stalking curlews on the shore in the spring frosts, 
and that black water they make such a cry about, 
would be no more to him than it was to me. He has 
evaded, and been captured. No, he would not sell us 
for money. There is some principle in the man. 
Besides which all of his money is invested on this side 
of the dyke. But if he were tortured — as Lag knows 
how — ah, well then, Beter Baton might be brought to 
speak ! ” 

Before Long-bodied John reached the narrow deep 
place which he had helped Raith to cross, and where 
the bank was hard on either side, he found a score of 
Lag’s men already on the hither side. Having forced 
the passage they were busy drawing their fellows 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


378 

across with cart-ropes, and there were floats under the 
chin of each. 

My uncle’s work — surely ! ” thought Long-bodied 
John. And, indeed, looking up, he spied at that 
moment Prayerful Peter, bound and guarded, while a 
pair of sentries were stimulating his invention with 
their bayonets. Peter was bleeding and crying out 
for pity, which however he did not find. 

“ Thank God for that — ” said his nephew, ** at least 
he has not sold us for money!” And simply and 
without a moment’s hesitation he set himself to do his 
duty — that is, to undo as far as he could the mis- 
chief caused to the defences of Ben Aron by the 
weakness of his kinsman. 

He laid him down behind a rock, and began coolly 
to pick off those who were busiest in the work of 
ferrying over the soldiers. The leader, who had al- 
ready crossed, one of the younger Houstons, Hurst 
indeed — instantly sent a dozen men to surround and 
capture him alive. But Long John Baton, twining 
his legs securely about a stone, continued his fusillade 
as fast as he could load and fire. 

** I suppose, John,” he said addressing himself, 
<< that it’s doom’s possible that ye are gaun to dee. 
Aweel, mony is the time ye hae been near it, John, 
but here it’s come at last. Ye were never great at 
the kirk- wisdom, John. But ye hae had a heap to 
to do wi’ kirk-folk and professors in their day. Ye 
hae saved them, and ta’en them bodily comfort, and 
carried their scribing, and hearkened to their lang 
prayers. And maybe, John, a’ that will count I I 
dare say it will, John, for He’s a just God — Yon Yin 
— so they say — ^just and mercifu’ baith 1 Ye hae tried 
mony a time, John, to straight your uncle’s crooked 
ways, and whiles ye hae dune it. Ye hae been a sinner 
I dare say, John, but what wi’ bein’ aye in the boat, ye 
hadna time for as muckle o’ that as some ithers. But 


LONG-BODIED JOHN— MARTYR 379 

dootless ye wad hae dune it if ye could. But Him 
Up Yonder kens a’ it, far better than you, John. So 
a’ ye hae to do, is juist to blaff awa’ at the vaigabonds 
as lang as your powder lasts ! Ye are doin’ your best, 
John, onyway, and the wee weak bits. He will maybe 
look them ower, John, — or He’s no what they cry 
Him up to be. I wadygm I were Him ! ” 

Thus meditating Long-bodied John cracked away 
merrily at his post, and indeed much hampered and 
delayed the landing, laying low first one and then 
another of the Houston brothers as they attempted 
to win across that sullen water which sucked at its 
long swaying lily-stems, and he minded the bullets no 
more than if so many bairns had been skipping stones 
over its pools at him. 

Suddenly John felt a sting behind his head. They 
were shooting down at him from the rocks above. 
His position was untenable by all rules of military 
science — only John of the Long Body knew nothing 
of military or any other science. 

“ Its near the end noo,” he said to himself. “ I won- 
der if ye can pray, John } Let’s try ! God be mer- 
ciful to me — . Na, John, it winna do, ye canna get 
ayont that. It’s curious too — for mony a braw squad 
o’ prayers ye hae heard in your time ! But it’s as 
weel, maybe. Ye never could hae gotten yon lass 
oot 0’ your heart, ye ken that. And even noo, Guid 
forgie ye, it’s her e’en and her bonny smile that ye 
see, when ye should be thinkin’ o’ your Maker ! Wae’s 
me, but ye did sore wrang, when ye never telled her a 
word o’ her lad up in the auld cave aneath Tantallon. 
Oh, if ye could only hae gotten your heart under, 
John, a’ this need never hae happened — and the lass 
stown awa’ to be hidden nane kens where.” 

Then interrupting his firing, for he began to feel 
himself curiously light-headed, he wrote painfully in a 
little account-book his uncle had given him. 


38 o 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


Bonny Mistress Ivie^' so the message ran, “ think 
whiles on John Baton o' Cantie Bay, that lo' ed ye, and 
aye did what he thocht ye wad like — except ance, and 
forgie him for that. He is by wV it now. He will 
never see the Bass again nor your bonny face. Bid a 
guidnicht to a' kind frien's frae John Baton of Cantie 
Bay, fisherman. ’ ’ 

% =i(: ^ ^ ^ 

At the first glance, Grif Rysland could see that his 
long-impregnable position had been completely taken 
in the rear. In spite of Long-bodied John, whose 
single gun he could hear speaking from below at inter- 
vals, it was manifestly impossible to withstand those 
who were already landed on the hither shore of Aron. 
Behind him he could hear the full roar of battle break 
forth. A field cannon, constructed of leather bound 
with bands of iron, as the old soldier recognised by 
the sound, had been brought into action. This he 
knew, would terrify the few raw defenders, more than 
anything. For like the Highlanders the Covenant 
men could not stand the deep roar of ‘^the Musket’s 
Mother.” 

What to do } 

To flee was an impossibility. To go down and die 
with honest John Baton — good ! But then who would 
make terms, if terms were to be made, with the enemy } 
Retreat was not practicable. The very Water of 
Aron, which had been the Wanderers’ defence, now 
became their prison. And with Mr. Peden and 
blind William Ellison, the thing was not to be 
thought of. 

Beneath him, Long-bodied John, at last recognizing 
his wounds, and knowing that the end of the end had 
come, had dragged himself up till now he sat on a 
rock in plain sight, where he still continued loading 
and firing — ^just as many a Sunday afternoon with 


LONG-BODIED JOHN— MARTYR 381 

true fisher laziness he had sat on a boulder under 
Tantallon and practiced upon the sea mews as they 
flitted by. 

“ Ye’re no a dragoon, John,” he communed with 
himself as he sat and loaded, while the bullets flew 
like hail, but ye are dooms ill to kill. May be ye wull 
win through yet ! Lord, that’s anither ye hae gotten 
to your score — a big red man that fell like a gull that 
has had his head shot off ! And you, John, sittin’ here, 
composed as King Solomon, wi’ a dozen bullets at the 
least intil ye ! ” 

But with these words Long-bodied John’s defense 
of the back door of Aron fortress was over. He slid 
away sideways, his head reposing on his musket, and 
over him stormed the attack towards the crest of the 
hill behind which the defenders were hopelessly firing 
their last shots. 

MU * * * 

Thus was ended the famous Leaguer of Ben Aron, 
and as Prayerful Peter explained afterwards daily to 
the end of his long and laborious life, “ It was the pil- 
niewinks that did it — I could hae stood death— aye, even 
the spoilin’ o’ my goods, (and indeed there was ae 
wretch o’ an Annandale thief that gat my watch, 
whilk I hae never recovered till this day) but when 
they put my thumbs in the screws — Poor Peter had 
juist to blab oot to them a’ that he kenned, aye and 
mair — a deal mair ! And when it came to the knockin’ 
in o’ the second wedge o’ the boots — sirce me, Peter 
wad hae shown them the road he had come across that 
water, had a’ that he possessed been lyin’ in a heap on 
the far side ! ” 

So that after all Long-bodied John had spoken a 
true word about his uncle’s faithfulness — which doubt- 
less was a comfort to that faithful heart. 

** Moreover,” said Peter, with considerable point, 


382 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ let them that never had their feathers i’ the gled’s 
claws, their thumbs i’ the denty thumbikins, their legs 
snugged in the bit boxie they cae the Boots, cast the 
first stane at Peter. What ken they what they micht 
hae dune ? ” 

And of this mind was King William himself, when 
Principal Carstairs, who in his day had been tortured, 
tried the thumbikins on the King at his request, and 
the King vowed that for another turn he would have 
rendered up every secret he possessed, if it were to 
King Louis himself — or so at least the fact stands re- 
corded of him. 

But Lag had triumphed. Ben Aron was in his 
hands. William and Gil Ellison, young Grey, Steel 
of Lesmahago, the brave Simpson lads (whose father 
was good for a swinging fine) — all the escapes from the 
Bass, among them the great and famous Mr. Peden, 
and best of all Grif Rysland — all were prisoners. Sir 
Robert’s only sorrow was that he had not been able to 
entrap Raith Ellison also, but of that he did not yet 
despair. He had spies on his track, and near the little 
farm on the hill, to which he had gone on the recom- 
mendation of the Chiel’ of Wamphray, there were 
liers-in-wait for the return of the pony and its 
borrower. 

In the meantime Lag guarded the prisoners down 
the path, set them on his own beasts in no Samaritan 
spirit, tied their feet under the horses’ belly, and set 
out for Morton Castle, where he would meet Colonel 
Douglas, his comrade in persecution and staunch ally. 
To him he would deliver Mr Peden, who was the only 
man of such mark as to have a price set on his head. 
Him he must send to Edinburgh alive, both because 
Robert Grier of Lag was a careful man in the matter 
of money, and because he thought that My Lord of 
Liddesdale, the King’s Secretary, was beginning to look 
somewhat askance upon him. The Prophet, then, it 


LONG-BODIED JOHN— MARTYR 383 

was unwise to shoot at the first dykeback, and what 
with the change of kings and the uncertain times, it 
might be well to have another to share with him the 
responsibility of the execution of the remaining prison- 
ers. For to slay Grif Rysland and the Ellisons he was 
resolved. In addition to which, it was possible that 
by this time his scouts would have put their hands 
upon Raith Ellison. 

So having buried his dead, making as was his custom 
no lament for any, and indeed secretly glad that all the 
three Houstons had been killed, an event which left 
him the freer hand, and, besides, opened up vistas of 
extending his landed borders in default of heirs to the 
estate. In such times one never knew what might not 
be turned to account ! So Lag marched away well 
content generally, his own dead being covered up, but 
leaving Long-bodied John and two of the Bass prison- 
ers to feed the corbies of Ben Aron. 

Likewise he released Prayerful Peter, keeping faith 
with him thus far, but ordering the dog to be kicked 
out of the camp — an order which was joyfully obeyed 
to the letter by the legionaries. 

The rest took their road towards Morton, guarded 
by the rough and heavy-handed troopers. 

The meditations of Grif Rysland were many and 
sad. 

“ Had I done this ” he kept torturing himself, “ had 
I left undone that other ? I was thinking of my own 
business — of my daughter — of Euphrain when I bade 
Raith depart. If he had been here, the passes and 
fords had been better guarded ! Ben Aron would . 
never have been taken.” 

And for the first time in this history there were 
tears in the eyes of Captain Grif Rysland, that soldier 
both fearless and in his calling reproachless. 

Mr. Peden, perceiving this, laid his hand upon his 
shoulder — their horses for the moment being led close 


384 the cherry ribband 

together, and in a loud voice he proclaimed his mes- 
sage. 

“ Fear not, Grif Rysland,’' he cried, “ thou must be 
brought before Caesar, and lo, God hath given thee all 
them that sail with thee !” 


CHAPTER XLIX 


BIG DEIL AND LITTLE DEIL 

Now Morton Castle stands on one of the pleasant- 
est sites in Scotland, and though it be now but a ruin 
for the bat to flit through while the cue-owl mews 
fitfully without, yet it keeps still a quiet, calm, and 
even majestic beauty of its own. 

But Morton Castle, on that morning when the pris- 
oners came down upon it over the fells, showed gay 
and smiling — a cloud of tents cinctured it about, like 
butterflies that had alighted in a swarm. Behind and 
higher were grouped the wicker shelters of the 
troopers and camp-followers. For Colonel Douglas of 
Morton was a famous commander, of that sort which 
confined itself to hunting the hill-folk and dividing the 
spoils of those who remained at home. 

Douglas of Morton had ridden out to meet his 
friend, and the two conversed blithely together. Such 
a haul had not been made since Pentland, as Lag re- 
peated again and again — “ not even Bothwell could 
equal it ! ” 

But at the first word of shooting and a joint war- 
rant, Morton started. 

‘‘ Not so near the house,” he said, “ remember the 
ladies ! I cannot have it ! What are all those fine 
hills back there for, but to shoot Whig dogs upon ? 
I would never have a day’s peace again from my 
women-folk ! ” 

“ Henpecked ? ” inquired Lag with an evil grin. 

“ Chicken-pecked,” said Morton, I stand in fear of 

25 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


386 

my daughters, who will not have the neighbours killed 
or even prisoned if they know of it. On the field I 
can do my part in the King’s service with any man, 
but — I like a quiet life when I am at home ! ” 

“ Ha,” said Lag, “ I begin to think that my house 
of Rockall, with only Roddie, and none to say me nay, 
is better than any of your great folks’ palaces like 
Kingsberry or Morton ! ” 

“ Oh,” said Colonel Douglas, with a shrug of Ijis 
shoulders, “it does not make any great difference. 
Westerhall over there obliges me, when I have the 
need of a little quiet Whig shooting.” 

“ But now we cannot go all the way back to West- 
erha’ with my crew,” cried Lag, “ they would mutiny. 
And besides, I cannot afford to risk having the prison- 
ers taken out of my hands ! ” 

“There are no men of this neighbourhood among 
them } ” demanded Morton, lowering at his friend eye 
to eye — but suspiciously, as bad men do who are yet 
equal in their badness, and respect each other for the 
fact. 

“ On my word,” said Lag, and seeing that the oath 
di^ not carry conviction, “ they are all Western and 
South country men, except a Lothian lad or two, who 
helped in the affair of the Bass.” 

^ii^here should be good money in some of these,” 
(^im Morton, “ I suppose you want me to look after 
Peden for you. Well, I will take the Bass men 
also to Edinburgh. You know that the council has 
often wanted to have its knife in the backs of these 
canny Louduners ! But if I do, it is halves, remember 
— or I will l^ve nothmg to do with your snooting.” 

“ And if I say yes ? ” said Lag, “ what of your 
women-folk then .? ” 

“ Why, then,” answered Morton, “bide a little here, 
and towards the darkening we will march the rascals 
over to a certain quiet place at the head of the Linn 


BIG DEIL AND LITTLE DEIL 387 

of Crichope. The tumble of the falls drowns any little 
noise, and the deeps of the Linn save any trouble of 
burying. In the meantime put your haul in the old 
girnel (granary) till we have need of them, and come, 
say your prayers and bend your stubborn knee to the 
ladies ! There are not only my own trio, but another, 
who though she be the daughter of a rebel — egad, sir, 
would make a man of my temper swear the Solemn 
League for her sake ! She is sure therefore to enkin- 
dle a gallant young buck like the Laird of Rockhall 
and Lag ! " 

“ The bonnier the deil — the waur the deil ! ” cried 
Sir Robert. “ That at least has been my experience ! ” 

“ Well, come and see,’' said his host, “ but first what 
say you to my dressing-room for the ordering of your 
attire ? What, no .? You have been on campaign, man, 
and are scarce fit for ladies’ parlours ! ” 

Then,” cried Lag, who had his virtues, “ I will e’en 
stay where I am. If your women-folk are so nice 
they cannot suffer a soldier fresh from a hard fight — 
why, then let them dress and scent puppies for them- 
selves, I will be no woman’s lop-eared spaniel ! ” 

With a smile Morton waived the point and the ^o 
men mounted together. For all his bluster. Lag was 
always uneasy with women, at least with those of his 
own rank. ^ 

“ My lady of Liddesdale,” said Morton, bo\\nn^ 
“ here is Sir Robert Grier ridden over on the by-gOT^ 
to pay his respects. His men had reported fhat you 
were at Morton ! ” 

“ Sir Robert is well served by his scouts,” said 
Lady Lidd^dale, coldly. Robert of Rothesay’s daugh- 
ter had no liking for her blusterin^neighbour. It was 
on her tongue tip to ask him how his shoulder fared. 
But on second thoughts she resolved to manage her 
little surprise otherwise. In the corner of the room a 
quartette of girls were clustered together over a book. 


388 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ Here,” she cried, “ young ladies, come and let this 
mettle spark bend the knee to you. Charlotte, F ranees, 
Jean, you cannot keep my guest all to yourselves! Sir 
Robert, let me show you the prettiest maid in Scot- 
land and a soldier’s daughter to boot. Mistress Ivie 
Rysland I ” 

“ I think we have met before,” said Sir Robert, 
bowing slightly, “pardon me my taking the lady’s 
hand. My arm is still a little stiff. I had an accident 
which troubles me I ” 

And he contented himself with again bowing to 
Ivie. 

“ None so ill,” said Lady Liddesdale to herself, “ for 
a wild boar in the sulks 1 I had not thought Roaring 
Rob had as muckle in him I But at any rate I pricked 
him to the quick. And how goes your siege. Sir 
Robert .? We heard of that. What, still no success ? 
Well, it is not the first time that the dull fellows have 
had the best of it. But how long are we to be favoured 
with your company. Sir Robert ? ” 

“ I ride this afternoon,” he answered, “ I have im- 
portant matters forward. This is but a passing visit 
— having heard (here he stammered, being inexpert 
at such banalities) that your Ladyship was in the 
neighbourhood 1 ” 

“ It is a favour you do not often pay to Her Lady- 
ship of Kingsberry, Sir Robert I ” returned the dame, 
glowering down upon him from the height of six foot, 
four inches — as he afterwards said — ‘ like a hoolet on a 
perch’. 

“ And the wicked old jade was laughing at me too,” 
he complained to Morton, when they went down stairs. 

“ I am sorry you go so soon,” continued Lady Lid- 
desdale as Sir Robert was going off, “ I fear you will 
just miss my husband. We are expecting him this 
evening with an escort I ” 

At the word Lag turned about. 


BIG DEIL AND LITTLE DEIL 389 


Ah,” he broke in, what might your ladyship have 
said ? An escort — Colonel Graham, then ? No, he is 
in the West — Captain Windram — perhaps ? ” 

I do not think Windram is the name. But it is an 
English captain — of that I am sure ! Good day to 
you. Sir Robert ! ” 

“ I thought I knew every man that could be mus- 
tered between Eden and Forth,” he murmured to him- 
self, and I have drained My Lord’s lands pretty dry. 
Where, then, can he have found this escort ? ” 

He applied to Colonel Douglas, but from him could 
get no information. New troops were expected from 
Carlisle and doubtless the Secretary, who had all the 
strings in his hand, had drawn some of these English- 
men round by way of Kingsberry. 

“ That would never do for me ! ” said Lag anxiously, 
“ perhaps we had better march the prisoners over and 
finish the job out of hand ! ” 

Morton shook his head thoughtfully. 

“ We must wait for evening,” he said. “I had a note 
from Kingsberry only this morning. My Lord Secre- 
tary will not arrive before midnight, and besides, we 
cannot move the prisoners — blind Ellison and all, 
without attracting attention. Why, Lady Liddesdale, 
to crown her folly, has actually brought his wife and 
daughter with her also !” 

** Where — Here } To Morton .? ” cried Lag, eager- 
ly, “you jest ! ” 

“ Look if I do,” said his friend. And there, walking 
very peacefully along the green path which wound up 
from the burn, were Euphrain Ellison and her mother 
Marjory. 

“ Meddling old hag,” cried Lag under his breath, 
referring to My Lady Liddesdale, “why cannot she 
get a company of the grenadier guards, where she 
might at least do something for the service of the 
king, and, besides, stand a rare chance of a bullet ? 


390 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But, as it is, she goes about with the Secretary in full 
cry after her, and her fingers all itching to be meddling 
in every man’s business ! ” 

Morton nodded fullest acquiescence. Out of reach 
of his womenkind, he could be to the full as cruel, 
though not naturally so brutal, as his neighbour of 
Lag. 

Ah,” said Sir Robert, after a pause, “ I have an 
idea. I must see Roddie, and that immediately.” . 

But he did not confide his idea to his friend and 
coadjutor, contenting himself with saying only, I 
shall expect you this evening. Now I have all these 
fellows to look after, and more coming every hour ! ” 

“ Well,” said Morton, “ the cooks have been busy 
in the kitchens ever since we knew you were in the 
neighbourhood. You can smell the good beef-broth 
from here. But you yourself will dine with us upstairs 
at noon ? ” 

“ No,” said Lag, ‘‘ I thank you, Morton, but I have 
had enough of Duke Robert’s daughter. I will mess 
with the men down in the meadow. How goes the 
rant ? * Better a dinner on the herb, than with a 

brawling woman in a wide house ! ’ which is, being 
interpreted — better dine with Roddie on the grass, 
than sup kail with My Lady Liddesdale in Morton 
Castle.” 

His host laughed, and shrugged his shoulders again 
to show that it was all very well for his friend, but as 
for. himself, there was no hope or help. 

“ But,” said Morton, I did not not know that you 
could quote Scripture — we shall have you preaching • 
on the heather yet ! ” 

‘‘Quote Scripture said Lag*, “well you kno\i the 
devil did in his time, and I suppose we his fait^^ful ^ 
servants may ! ” 4 

“Speak for yourself. Lag,” said Morton, shortly.^ 

“ I do,” cried Lag, “ I do. The rest of you are 

• 


BIG DEIL AND LITTLE DEIL 391 

half-and-halfs ! Go back to my sweet Lady of Kings- 
berry and her pretty traitresses ! ” 

‘‘ Ah, Robin,” thought Morton, as he strode away, 
then the tale is true after all. The Rysland wench 
must have pinched you right sharply, to bring that 
grimace on your face ! All the same I shall be sorry 
for the lass, if her father is to be shot tonight. Yet 
after all, it is none of my business.” 

And with a third shrug of the shoulders, this easy 
King’s man sauntered towards the Castle of Morton. 

^ ^ m Mf: ^ 

The business on which Lag wished to see his con- 
fidential man Roddie, was indeed of the most private 
and confidential sort. The idea had come to him 
when he had seen Euphrain and Marjory walking to- 
gether under the walls of the castle. 

And if any man could realize his idea, Roddie could. 
If successful, it would indeed be a crown to his work. 
And merely as an idea, it was worthy of the master 
whom he had owned a moment before. The devil 
himself could not have done better — or rather, worse ! 


CHAPTER L 


Marjory’s mother-heart 

Rod DIE, Lag’s alter ego — which is to say inferior 
devil, had come like many of his race of a good house, 
and upon occasion he could conduct himself very much 
like a gentleman — even though many years of Sir 
Robert Grier’s society had left him few other virtues. 

It was, then, with a not ungraceful air of respect, 
that he saluted Euphrain and her mother as they re- 
turned from their walk by the waterside in the hollow. 

“ I am aware,” he said, “that Mistress Ellison and 
her daughter have reason to think but ill of me for that 
which is past. But times are changed and changing 
yet faster, so I ask that you will hear me for I am 
the bearer of a message from one who is dear to you ! ” 

For a moment Marjory Simpson gazed at the man 
as if to read his thoughts. She had seen him watch- 
ing them before. For, as she often said since her 
marriage. Mistress Marjory Ellison had to see for two. 
But it had not occurred to her that this was anything 
more than the surprise natural to such a man, upon 
seeing the wife of a rebel^walking freely about Morton 
Castle. In reality Roddie was keenly on the watch to 
see that the two women did not wander too close to the 
ancient girnel of Morton, in which the prisoners were 
for the present interned. 

The old woman bowed her |iead, and answered 
plainly and openly. ^ 

“ Speak, then, if you have anythin^o say to Mar- 
jory Ellison or her daughter.” 



MARJORY’S MOTHER-HEART 393 

** I have something to say,” continued Roddie, and 
it concerns your son — 

“ And from which son of mine do you hold your 
commission — you, Sir Robert Grier’s serving man ? ” 
demanded Marjory. 

From your son Beattie ! ” said Roddie, with a 
cadence in his voice, which though helped by his 
Highland accent, owed something also to his talent for 
acting. 

Now Marjory had none of her husband’s fierceness 
of abstract indignation. And, now, though her head 
was calm and quiet, her heart was the stronger. 

“ My son is my son,” she s^id, ‘‘ even though, if 
all tales be true, he has gone in an ill way. But I 
have had one son returned to me — why not the 
other } ” 

Then it was that Roddie was almost diverted from 
his proper business. He thought that if he could do 
a little on his own account, his master could not fail 
to be pleased. 

“ Ah,” he said, speaking gently, as he knew how 
upon occasion, you mean Raith, who was in service 
with me in the Royal Dragoons } I knew him 
well ! ” 

Marjory nodded, for her heart filled at the name of 
that prodigal so wondrously returned — though indeed 
she had never doubted it. 

“ So Raith has come back to you .? ’’ said Roddie, 
looking thoughtfully at tl^e ground. Marjory was 
about to answer, and tell of her youngest son’s kind 
reception at the hands of Lord and Lady Liddesdale. 
For mothers’ hearts love such things, and the telling 
would have been • ^weet, especially in such a quarter. 
But Euphrain, alv^ys more suspicious, nudged her 
mother softl)^ana Marjory, looking up, caught the 
fencer’s glitt^ in Roddie’ s eye for a moment lifted 
and thenjjfipped. 


394 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ I mean,” she said, “ I have heard news of him ! ” 

“ And if you will accompany me this evening,” 
said the man, hiding his sharp disappointment, I 
promise you that you shall have news, good news, of 
your other son ! ” 

“ You mean that I shall see him ? ” she queried, 
now suspicious on her own account. 

I promise it ! I swear it ! ” he cried, all the more 
eagerly that he found himself accidentally telling the 
truth ; “ I know that there is no reason why you 
should believe me, therefore I have brought a letter 
which may convince you. It is from your son Beat- 
tie, now in high favour with the Managers in Edin- 
burgh, and able to do many things for his friends, 
if only they would trust him.” 

He had intended to tell her how Beattie was so 
useful to the more ardent spirits of the Council, and 
especially to the bench of Bishops, that it might not 
be a very long time before he was made a bishop 
himself — so greatly in need of able men were the 
prelates of Scotland at that time. But his Celtic 
finesse kept him silent. 

** Let me see my son’s letter,” said Marjory, hast- 
ily, stretching out her hand. 

At first Roddie pretended to hesitate, as if he were 
afraid of exceeding his instructions. 

The letter is to my master. Sir Robert,” he said, 
and for the most part treats of affairs ©f state, and the 
services which your son is rendering to the govern- 
ment. But there are certain portidhs which concern 
you, and — yes — you may read thefiK Only you will 
stop when I ask you, seeing that I have no right t(f 
show you the letter at all. But — (he added softly) I 
can feel for that which is in a mother s heart.” 

Again Marjory felt Euphrain’s warning arm, but 
this time she was too eager at sight of Beattie’s hand- 
writing to give any heed. 


MARJORY’S MOJHER-HEART 395 

“ Show it me,” she said and, taking it, this is what she 
read. 

“ Also I pray you. Sir Robert, to remember, if in 
aught. I have served you, or the King’s Majesty that 
for a first reward I claim the lives and good treatment 
of my father — William Ellison sometime prisoner on 
the Bass, as well as of my brother Gil for whom I 
still have much affection, in spite of the ill words and 
worse slanders they have put upon me. And as for 
my lovit mother, if ever you meet with her or with 
my sister Euphrain, I beseech you take pity on them 
and give them good news of me. I trust that I may 
early see them, and that they may forgive and one day 
be thankful for all the steps I have taken to bring 
about the good of the country and the furtherance of 
good order ! ” 

So far had she read, when Roddie, seeing her about 
to turn the page, and knowing that Master Beattie 
went on to say that as to his rebel and traitor brother 
Raith, Sir Robert might use his full discretion with 
him, informed Mistress Ellison gently that the rest of 
the letter concerned only the service of the King, 
and that her whole message lay there plain before her 
eyes. So, thanking him, she read it again, the flow- 
ing, easy-swelling words taking her by the heart, see- 
ing that she was the lad’s mother, and found it hard 
to believe any evil of him. 

Give my mother good news of me — I love them — 
Ktrust that I may see her and them ! ” she murmured, 
quoting only the^sense. And straightway her heart 
took her back to the time when Beattie, a dimpling 
•baby-thing, learned his first lessons, graving the great 
A’s with his finger among the meal of the bake-board 
on the summer afternoons. 

“ I would like to see him ! ” she murmured ; my 
little Beattie ! He was always so quick ! ” 

Then again she saw him at play among ^ the poppies 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


396 

at the corn-edges, the flowers a foot taller than his 
head. Euphrain, I would like to see the boy, once 
before I die ! ” 

“ So you shall, madam,” said Roddie. “ I will convoy 
you myself. It is no far journey. You can ride if 
you will, but it is safer to walk. He is on the 
King’s business, and his presence must not be known. 
I swear to you that if you trust me, you shall see 
your son this night ! ” 

And indeed it was true enough, though the son 
she was to see was not he whom Marjory expected. 

** And where ? ” she asked ; “tell me the place.” 

“At the head of the Linn of Crichope — ,” said the 
serving man ; “ do not be afraid. Colonel Douglas 
will be there. You shall see him ride off to the meet- 
ing with Sir Robert. We shall follow in their wake, 
but cautiously, lest you be turned back. Colonel 
Douglas would not allow that. But all the same, you 
cannot be afraid to go where he is.” 

“ No,” said Marjory, who was ever unready to 
think evil, “ he seems an honourable man — for a 
persecutor.” 

“ Ah,” said Roddie, “ there are better and worse 
amongst us lads that ride for the King. Have I, think 
you, done this for mine own advantage ? ” 

“ Why have you done it at all } ” said Euphrain, sud- 
denly, looking full at him.’ 

Now if it had been her mother, he would have re- 
plied that it was because he understood her griefs of 
separation, her love and yearning. But he dared not 
answer Euphrain so. Her cool grey eyes outstared 
him. 

“ Because,” he replied, “ your brother has conquered 
in short space very great power. And when he ar- 
rives at that to which all men say he is tending, he 
will not forget poor Roddie— who has had enough of 
riding and slaying under a rough master I ” 


MARJORY’S MOTHER-HEART 397 

** Poor man ! ” said Marjory, ** we will go with you, 
and bring our friend also ! ” 

‘‘ Aye, do,” said Roddie, “ there may be news of her 
father also ! I should not wonder ! ” 


CHAPTER LI 


THE PLACE OF SLAUGHTER 

Now the Linn of Crichope is surely one of the 
strangest places in Scotland — deep, narrow, cut out 
from the soft sandstone, turned as on a lathe, grooved 
into a myriad caves, arches, pot-holes. The sun never 
shines there. The waters tear and roar through it in 
time of flood. The winds, even when there is a pro- 
found stillness in the upper air, moan and cry down 
there like lost and prisoned souls. But for all these 
reasons, it was a great haunt of the Covenant folk, 
till it had been rendered too unsafe by the near gar- 
risons at Morton and Drumlanrig. 

But at the top, where the water of the Crichope 
burn comes down off the high tableland, there is a 
waterfall, and a pleasant green space too, in front of 
it, where lovers oft convene, and to which quiet vil- 
lagers walk out to sit awhile on the grass, and listen 
to the roar of the waterfall above, and the unquiet 
wind in the caverns below. 

But in the latter Covenant days there was no lone- 
lier spot and no one more avoided by all the country- 
side. For there was ofttimes blood on the sward, 
and the place where the execution squads had stood 
is still pointed out. It was chosen so that the victims 
might fall back into the boiling torrent and give no 
further trouble. It is told how more than one, wound- 
ed, but not unto death, or perhaps intentionally spared 
by a more than usually merciful firing party, threw 
himself backward and took the scant chance of escap- 


THE PLACE OF SLAUGHTER 399 

ing a broken neck. Indeed, even far into the eigh- 
teenth century, there was an indweller at Penpont, an 
old man, a great Covenanter, who still crawled about 
with crab-like sidelong steps, from having, as he said, 
“loupit Crichope Linn wi’ a dozen bullets after 
me.” 

To this place, then, the prisoners were conveyed, 
not all in a bunch, lest that should attract attention, 
hut in twos and threes. 

Marjory and Euphrain had gone into the Castle, 
where, though they did not, by their own wish, fre- 
quent the great chambers, but contented themselves 
with the little lodging allotted to them, they found 
easily enough a servant to seek for Ivie, and to bid 
her come to them. But no Ivie was to be found. 
The Countess herself had not seen her for hours. She 
had been observed, one of the Colonel’s daughters 
reported, walking quickly away from the old girnel. 
Also there was a horse missing from the stable. She 
might have gone for a ride, having had to saddle 
for herself, since all the grooms were taking holi- 
day in the camp of Lag’s men — the drunken wretches. 
There would be no doing with them for a day or 
two after Sir Robert was gone ! Certes, but they 
would lead their father a pretty life if he did not 
keep his troopers in better order. Sir Robert’s ras- 
cals were a disgrace to the country ! For them, 
give them the Life Guards in their gay coats and 
their lace — these were the fine soldiers, if you like. 
Though indeed those who had been in France did 
say that the troops of the Red House of the King 
were still finer. But then everything was richer and 
better in France ! 

So it came to pass, that Marjory and her daughter 
Euphrain were waiting for Roddie at the edge of 
the Bogwood according to their promise. 

To see her boy! That was Marjory’s dream. Who 


400 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


knew but that Beattie too, though now they called 
him traitor, spy, and worse names, might come back 
to her, even as Raith had done. There was no say- 
ing — if once he saw his mother. 

Duly was Roddie in waiting. Before them, riding 
slowly, they could see Sir Robert and Colonel Douglas, 
going, as Roddie assured them, to an interview with 
Beattie and My Lord Bishop of Galloway. It was 
calm, assured weather, and they set out while it was yet 
broad daylight — indeed, little more than mid-after- 
noon. 

The Linn of Crichope ! Many were the legends 
and strange tales, told by the fireside at Mayfield, that 
the name called up — of wild deep caverns, of marvel- 
lous wildernesses of trees and ferns, of fathomless gulfs 
and roaring floods, of brownies, fairies, dancing elves, 
and above all, of the honest lads of the Covenant, who 
were used to lie up there so comfortably in the easy, 
early days before the coming of Clavers. 

That was what Marjory thought of as Crichope, and 
perhaps Euphrain too — but what they did see was very 
different. 

By the time they reached the head of the glen the 
sun was setting, and threw his beams level on a row 
of men who stood on the edge of a precipice, the green 
short grass under their feet, and the main abyss 
behind. A little to the side two men sat on horseback, 
calmly conferring together, as if the whole were a 
little matter of everyday business. They were Lag 
and Colonel Douglas. There seemed to be some dif- 
ference of opinion between them. 

It must not be ! ” said one. 

It shall be ! ” cried the other. 

Then I will have nothing to do with it ! ” said 
Colonel Douglas ; it is murder — nothing less ! ” 

** I have my commission — you. Colonel Douglas, 
yours 1 — They shall die, these men ! If you do not 


THE PLACE OF SLAUGHTER 401 


wish to be present, you can put spurs to your beast 
like a faint heart ! ” 

I shall hereafter call you to account for that word ! ” 
said Morton. 

** Pshaw,” sneered Lag, ** I have more duels on my 
hand than there are days in the year. But they nev- 
er come off. Stay, man, and see justice prettily done. 
I will register your protest. Roddie, Kilburn, Begg, 
here ! Ye are to bear witness that Colonel Douglas 
does not agree to the execution of these recusants, 
which is about to take place by my orders. Colonel 
Douglas had ever a soft side for the rebels. But then 
he has not had so much trouble upon Ben Aron as we, 
or perhaps he would not have brought them even so 
far ! ” 

It was then that a woman’s cry arose from a little 
group that had that moment appeared over the brae. 

“ It is my husband ! What are they doing to 
him ? ” 

For Marjory Simpson had seen William Ellison and 
rushed to him. The blind man held out his arms 
vaguely, recognizing his wife’s voice, but not knowing 
what had brought her there. 

“ Marjory — Marjory !” he cried, and then again, 
» Marjory!” 

But without a word Euphrain had gone straight to 
Grif Rysland, where he stood, more firmly tied than 
the rest, his hands behind his back. 

“ I have not your token, Euphrain,” he said, smiling 
a little ; “ they have stolen it. But I love you — I love 
you as I never thought to love woman.” 

Gil, who stood next, watched till either of the two 
women should notice him. And in his simple way he 
began to wonder why all his life long never a woman 
had thought of him first. 

And Gil, my son Gil ! ” cried his mother at last ; 
‘‘ what is this ? What is this ? ” 

26 


402 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


** We are to die, mother,” said Gil. “ You had bet- 
ter go away. It will do no good.” 

“ I will beg at his feet for your life,” cried Marjory, 
clasping her arms about her eldest son’s neck. I 
will cast myself on Lag’s mercy — ” 

“ Steady, mother,” said Gil, “ be brave. Do not let 
the wolf see that you give way. Keep the tear from 
your eye — the smile on your lips ! He has brought you 
here for this — to triumph over you, to see your agony ! 
I saw it — I knew it as soon as I saw you coming over 
the brae in the company of that vile fox Roddie. Dis- 
appoint him, mother. He has brought you here to 
batten on your distress, to have you kneel and implore 
— and then to spurn you ! Mother — mother, be guided 
— do as I say.” 

Gil had never in his life made so long a speech be- 
fore. It was his swan-song. And, so strange it was, 
in a moment Marjory was herself again. Euphrain 
also dropped her arms from Grif Rysland’s shoulders. 

** Where is Ivie.?” asked her father; “why is she 
not with you .? ” 

“ She does not know,” said Euphrain ; “ she had rid- 
den out somewhere in the morning before they cheated 
my mother into coming here with a false letter and 
message.” 

Grif’s lips were very firm, but otherwise his face 
showed no emotion when Euphrain bade him fare-' 
well. 

“ Stand away there, women— what brings you here ?” 
shouted Lag, cantering forward, as if to drive them 
bodily over the precipice ; “ a little more and I would 
put a bullet in you also, as indeed you are well de- 
serving of. ’ 

At the first sight of the Ellisons, Morton had turned 
his horse about and ridden away. 

The preparations for immediate execution went for- 
ward, Lag directing. He put Marjory and Euphrain 


THE PLACE OF SLAUGHTER 403 

under the charge of Roddie and three other men, in a 
place within a few yards of the men about to die. 

“ Now in Edinburgh Grassmarket," he said brutally, 
they would make you pay gowden guineas for as 
good a place, and I, at the Linn of Crichope, charge 
you nothing at all.” 

He even sacrificed some hope of ransom to the 
completeness of the final scene, by causing the Simp- 
son lads to be brought forward with the others. Your 
nephews. Mistress Ellison,” he cried with a wave of 
his hand towards them, “ quite a family party ! ” 

The firing squad was chosen and set in position. 
There was the dry click of ramrods, and then a dull 
thudding as the charges were driven home. 

“Make ready — take a pace nearer!” cried Lag; 
“ no bungler’s work — two bullets to every man, and do 
the job cleanly I ” 

He glanced along the line and then triumphantly 
over at the white set faces of the two women. Bit- 
terly he regretted the absence of I vie. The crown 
of his work had escaped him. The final order came 
at last. 

“ Present your arms ! ” 


CHAPTER LII 


JEZEBEL AND JEZEBEL* S CHILDREN 

“ Stop — in the King’s name ! ” cried a voice from 
behind, “put down your weapons. Who shoots, 
dies ! ” 

It was the Secretary of State himself, my Lord 
Liddesdale, and beside him, on the lost horse from 
the stable of Colonel Morton, was Ivie Rysland — 
while a little behind, his sword in his hand, rode Raith 
Ellison. 

Warned in time, Ivie had ridden to intercept him, 
and he would have arrived long ago, but for the curi- 
ous nature of My Lord’s escort. This was not mili- 
tary, but naval. Indeed they were the seamen from 
the inspection ship Swiftsiire^ which had arrived off 
the coast, having in these leisurely days taken all that 
time to turn Cape Wrath. And in command there 
was no less a man than Captain George Teddiman 
himself. 

The landfolk might ride, that is — My Lord of Lid- 
desdale, Raith, and Ivie. But the sailors had to come 
on at the trot of their bare feet, except only their 
Captain — which, though they did most manfully, yet 
the horsemanship of Captain George Teddiman not 
being of the first order, the party arrived in no more 
than the nick of time. 

“ Sir Robert,” said Liddesdale, “ pray show me 
your warrant for this execution ! ” 

“ I have, as you know, a general warrant,” Lag 
answered sulkily, seeing his prey on the point of 


JEZEBEL AND JEZEBEL’S CHILDREN 405 

escaping him. “ It would have been over but for the 
fruit of waiting for these women,” he murmured. 

And you dare ! ” cried My Lord. “ I shall report 
this to the Council. Do you know that by the author- 
ity of the King, his Majesty James the Second — ” 
“ Whom God preserve ! ” said Captain George Ted- 
diman, lifting his laced hat high in the air. 

‘‘Whom God preserve!” cried in chorus all his 
hundred and fifty seamen, pulling at their forelocks 
and rolling their tobacco quids. 

“ By the King’s authority,” the Secretary went on, 
“ all particular warrants of every sort are rescinded, 
and all prisoners must be delivered up to be tried by 
the ordinary courts of the kingdom. By his Majesty’s 
order in Council, rebellion does not exist in any part 
of his dominions, and furthermore, liberty of con- 
science and worship has been granted to all! ” 

“ Ah,” said Lag, ironically, “ I did not know there 
were no more rebels. I thought that I had been busy 
fighting a good many on Ben Aron. So the news 
did not reach me. But after all, seeing that I have 
full military authority over this district, and that you. 
My Lord (with all deference) have only civil — I shall 
proceed to do my duty in terms of my commission, 
and execute these rebels taken with arms in their 
hands.” 

“I dare you on your life,” said My Lord, tak- 
ing his place with Raith between the firing party 
and the prisoners, who, being bound still remained in 
their positions. But Ivie had her arms about her 
father, while Euphrain watched her with jealous 
eyes. 

“Stand away,” shouted Lag; “I will take the 
responsibility. Men, prepare to fire, and if any 
interfere, their blood be on their own heads ! ” 

“ Captain George,” cried My Lord, “ oblige me 
by advancing your men ! ” 


4o6 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


“ Catch a hold of the swabs and heave them over- 
board !” shouted the burly sea captain, showing a good 
example. For, seizing Lag about the waist, he rushed 
with him towards the cliff. The hundred and fifty 
seamen broke into a true salt-water cheer, and each 
seized his man as far as they could make them go 
round. Those left out helped their nearest comrades. 
Lag tried in vain to reach his pistols, but Captain Ted- 
diman had him too tightly. In a trice there would 
have been a strange turning of the tables, for the 
sailors were far more numerous than the troopers 
Lag had brought with him. All of them would 
have been over the precipice, had not My Lord, with 
difficulty restraining his laughter, made a sign with 
his hand for them to stop. 

“ Say but the word. My Lord,” said Captain George 
Teddiman, hopefully, “ and overboard it is ! ” 

And indeed the steep sides of Crichope would have 
settled a good many scores, had not Lord Liddesdale 
found his voice. 

** Let them go,” he cried, ** but stay, keep Sir Rob- 
ert a moment under guard. I have a word to say in 
his ear. And do you. Captain George, take the men 
yonder and untie them. They are the objects of the 
King’s special clemency — save indeed, those who are 
specially named in the schedule of exceptions.” 

The Secretary spoke awhile softly to Sir Robert 
Grier, who, after listening, made no further objections 
to rendering up his prisoners, and sulkily proceeded to 
withdraw his men. 

You have rested long enough. Sir Robert,” coun- 
selled Lord Liddesdale, “ you had better march to-night 
for Sanquhar. There may be more need for you in 
the west.” 

“Ah,” said Lag, “ I presume there will, so soon as 
the King finds out that proclamations do not put down 
rebellion so well as old-fashioned powder and shot I ” 


JEZEBEL AND JEZEBEL’S CHILDREN 407 

And with that he mounted his horse and rode away. 

The prisoners were left with My Lord — the sailors 
also. 

“ Men,” said My Lord, addressing the seamen, I 
presume that you could not, on oath, recognize any of 
these late prisoners ” 

“ Swiftsuresy turn your backs ! ” commanded Cap- 
tain George. 

The whole crew faced about instantly as one man. 

“ Swear that you could not tell one of them, not if 
they were your own brothers ! ” cried Captain George. 

“ We swear ! ” cried all the crew in chorus. 

“ You never remarked whether they were old or 
young, naked or clothed, black or white. In fact, you 
would swear on the Book that you know nothing 
about the matter ! ” 

“ We swear ! ” cried the SwiftsureSy manfully. 

“ Good lads,” said Captain George Teddiman ; that 
is Mr. Pepys’s way ! He is the king of all seafaring 
men, though he is always sick aboard. But, Lord, he 
knows more than fifty admirals, as I think I have 
mentioned already to your Grace to-day ! ” 

“ Certainly,” said the peer, “a hundred times at least 
— I must make this Mr. Pepys’s acquaintance when 
next I go to London.” 

“ A fine man,” said Captain George ; “ keeps a 
coach, and learned — all the Bishops cannot pose him. 
Anything more I can do for you, My Lord } ” 

“ Only keep your men as they are for a moment,” 
said Lord Liddesdale. 

“ Swift sure Sy shut your eyes ! ” commanded their 
captain ; “ fifty lashes to the man that opens them till 
I tell him — Mr. Pepys’s way — plain and simple, easily 
understood — no mistakes ! ” 

“ Gentlemen,” said My Lord, addressing the released 
prisoners, but also abstaining from looking at them, 
“ I do not know you. It is better that I should not 


4o8 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


know you, either names or faces. Pass on your way. 
If ye cannot serve the King, at least lead a quiet life, 
until the better days come. If any of you be Mr. 
Peden, or Mr. Renwick, or Mr. Shields, or any against 
whom there are special exceptions — remember, I have 
no knowledge of the fact. Go — you will not be mo- 
lested. But there is one Captain Grif Rysland, who, 
on condition of special service, has received a pardon 
under the Privy Seal, and to him I would desire to 
speak. Gentlemen, I bid you all a good-evening ! ” 

And My Lord Liddesdale, Secretary for Scotland, 
stood with his hat off while the prisoners went by, 
each one saluting as he went, and Gil leading his blind 
father by the arm. Not a word of thanks was said, 
‘and My Lord Secretary’s eyes were fixed steadfastly 
on the ground. 

After all had passed out of sight, it was Captain 
George Teddiman who broke the silence. 

It could not have been better done by Mr Pepys 
himself ! Swift sures^ you may open your eyes, and 
prepare to come about ! ” 

■5|t ^ ^ ^ ^ -Jit 

The result of My Lord’s lengthy confabulation with 
Grif Rysland was that Grif went immediately to Hol- 
land with letters to the Prince of Orange, on the part 
of My Lord Liddesdale and a large portion of the no- 
bility of Scotland. It was a very private mission, so 
private indeed that Grif did not return to Britain till 
he came back with the Prince and landed at Torbay. 
But then it was Colonel Grif Rysland who stepped on 
shore, and — had a wife with him. 

And that wife was no other than Euphrain Ellison. 
For Euphrain had an unforeseen objection to the mar- 
riage when first approached. 

My brother Raith is to marry your daughter,” she 
said, ‘‘ that will have a strange look. For in a way I 


JEZEBEL AND JEZEBEL’S CHILDREN 409 

shall be Ivie’s mother, and my own brother’s mother- 
in-law.” 

It was certainly a little perplexing, but the old sol- 
dier cunningly turned the tables upon her. 

“ Let us get married at once,” he said, “ then it will 
be as if we knew nothing of any Raith-and-Ivie mar- 
riage. If they do not like you for a mother or a step- 
mother, they need not get married ! The responsibility 
is with them ! ” 

But apparently they did. For when, soon after, 
Raith also went to Holland to be an officer of the 
Prince, and as at the same time Ivie must rejoin her 
father, it was obviously impossible that he could make 
the long journey alone with so beauteous a young vrotiw 
— she arranged matters by going as his wife. 

As for Long-bodied John, he did not die, but lived 
with half-a-pig of lead in him (as he said) to heir his 
uncle’s properties. It was Prayerful Peter indeed, 
who to some extent saved his reputation by bringing 
him home, lamenting all the way, “ My braw neffy, 
my braw neffy, to think it should come to this, the 
bonny lang body o’ him strung atween twa cuddies !” 

And Captain George Teddiman, having inherited 
Houston after all, promptly sold it to My Lord, be- 
cause My Lady could not bear to think of such a hor- 
rid place being within sight of Kingsberry. So the 
ancient house of wickedness was razed to the ground, 
the trees were cut down, and the ewes turned into the 
valley to purify its terraces with the bleating of cen- 
turies of lambs. 

Mayfield is a happier Mayfield now, and though 
Beattie never was made a Bishop, he accompanied the 
exiled court abroad, and became a great man as a diplo- 
matic secretary at St. Germain, where there was a 
dearth of people who could spell, especially among the 
newer titles which the King scattered so prodi- 
gaily. 


410 


THE CHERRY RIBBAND 


But Gil was with his mother, and always when the 
summer came round there was an inroad of heartsome 
little folk, eager to hear from a blind old man who had 
sweetened wonderfully with love and time, certain 
strange stories of the past. 

And the end always was, as he laid a hand on each 
head in turn, have a good lad for a father, bairns. 
But I will tell you one thing — ye have a woman that 
is an angel for a mother. For once, I, William Elli- 
son, had a prodigal son and a hard heart. And a 
woman both gave me back my son, and softened my 
heart — my old, wicked, unforgiving, stony heart. And 
it was your mother, Ivie Ellison, who did that ! ” 
Then the infant choir made answer as with one 
voice, ** Of course mother would. She makes us good 
too. For father, when he comes in lets us play with 
his sword, or anything. But mother, when we’se 
naughty, and hard, and stony — she just whips us, and 
then after that she loves us ! ” 

But old William Ellison, crooning on in his corner, 
and Marjory his wife, sitting by his side and holding 
his hand, repeated over to each other softly, like the 
question and answer of cooing turtle-doves, “ There 
is no one like Ivie — no one like our daughter Ivie 
Ellison ! ” 

And neither one nor the other of them ever remem- 
bers that once on a time they cursed her and called 
her Jezebel. 


THE END. 


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SEP 16 1905 




